The Scorch Trials of Jorge
by Tranquilozination
Summary: We all know what happened during The Scorch Trials. What Thomas and the other Gladers had to endure. But do you know this from Jorge's point of view? And what do we actually know about him or the person he was in the past? What makes Jorge tick? [DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to The Maze Runner Trilogy].
1. Chapter 1: The explosion

**The Scorch Trials of Jorge**

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_**Author's note**: The Jorge depicted here is based on the way he came across to me. Although I know who plays him in the movie, my image of Jorge is a bit different. First of all, I assumed he was in his mid to late twenties, maybe early thirties, but not much older than that. Second of all, I based his looks (and his actions) on the descriptions from the book ("a young Hispanic man", as found in chapter 25 of book 2), even though there isn't a lot to go on. Third of all, I follow the same storyline as is depicted in The Maze Runner Trilogy, more specifically in The Scorch Trials, but I will focus on this from Jorge's point of view._

_Okay, now that that's out of the way... I hope you enjoy reading this. I would love to hear from you, whether you have a question or a suggestion, or maybe you feel like I should improve something, or just to say you liked it, it's all very welcome. Now, without further ado: here are the Scorch Trials of Jorge Gallaparga._

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**Chapter 1: The explosion  
**

Jorge stood by the door and waited until every Glader had followed Brenda outside. Just like before, when he had entered through the hole in the ceiling, he was taking everyone in as they left the building and stepped into the sunlight. That guy Minho was someone he had to keep an eye on. Even Minho himself didn't always seem to be able to control his temper. Thomas, however, knew his boundaries very well. Maybe too well. That could make him the most dangerous of all.

He followed the crowd when the last Glader was out the door, taking up the rear and spying at sudden movements. There were a lot of Cranks in this place, all of them further gone than Brenda and he were. Okay, maybe that wasn't the best comparison, since both Brenda and he were immune and were only in this place to oversee the arrival of group A. Thomas and the rest of the Gladers, however, probably thought that he was also pretty far gone with his talk of delicious eyeballs and such. Jorge grinned softly. It was best to let them think that. Still, the Cranks who could be eying them right now were way worse than his so-called followers, Barkley and the others. And that said something, because Jorge knew that Barkley would jump on the chance to betray him and take the leadership for himself.

A sound made him double check the surroundings. His hand clutched the knife in his pants pocket, but relaxed when he saw just one Crank disappearing in another building. Probably someone who was also hiding from the ones passed Gone. Brenda and the others had already reached the old Subway station. Jorge squinted his brown eyes in the sunlight, examined the empty streets one more time and then stepped down the stairs too. Once accustomed to the darkness of the tunnel, he saw Brenda passing out food to the Gladers. She gave a can to him as well.

"Thanks." His voice sounded deep and echoed through the hallway.

"What's the plan?" Brenda asked under her breath, not wanting to call attention to their conversation. Luckily, the Gladers were too busy eating like they hadn't eaten in days.

"We get them out of the city. Keep pretending to be Cranks and that we're doing this because we want the cure," Jorge whispered back. "And keep an eye on..." He noticed Minho looking suspiciously at them and stopped talking for a second. "You know who. I'll keep watch here."

"Got it."

Jorge watched as Brenda returned to Thomas and opened his can of food absentmindedly. He knew what his mission was, but he didn't know their names or any other information of them beforehand, nothing besides what Thomas had just told him – when he had given him ten minutes to convince him why he shouldn't kill them. Not that he would have. Not unless he wanted to be stuck here for all eternity. That was just tough talk from his side. He shook himself from the train of thought and focused on the closest exit. A bad feeling suddenly took possession of him. While keeping himself in the shadow, he went to stand in the entrance and tried to pinpoint in which form the danger would present itself, but couldn't find the source of it. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that things were about to go awry. Jorge had learned from experience that you should not ignore these hunches, so he quickly walked to Brenda. He read from her expression that she knew something was wrong.

"No matter what happens, stick with Thomas," Jorge whispered to Brenda. She just nodded. They both knew why. Thomas's name had been plastered all over this city on plaques saying that he was the true leader.

He removed himself from Brenda and Thomas and was just about to go outside, when the world came tumbling down. At least, that was how it felt to him. Some kind of explosion on the stairwell blew him away and he landed a few meters farther on the ground. It vibrated in his ears, the following sounds coming across muffled. Nevertheless, the view in front of him spoke loudly enough. Parts of the ceiling began to fall, the structure was at the point of breaking and crumbling down. Hastily, Jorge scrambled on his feet. He had to grab the wall next to him for some support when another part of the building came down.

"Come on!" he called to the others and waved them over, not able to hear himself say it. He just had to trust that the words did in fact come out of his mouth. There just wasn't any time for anything else.

Without waiting for response, he ran right into the cloud of dust and towards the ceiling that threatened to fall. He then quickly turned left, into a branching hallway he knew would lead to another exit not too far away. An even harder crash, still sounding dull in his ears, made him jump and turn around. The entire section of the roof lay in pieces on the ground, preventing them from going back. A crack in the ceiling started to run in their way, indicating that there could be more damage coming. It wouldn't be safe to stand here longer than necessary.

"We gotta keep moving!" Just barely he heard himself speak, but at least he knew now that there were indeed sounds leaving his mouth. Jorge signaled the others to hurry and saw that nobody seemed to be gravely injured, just out of breath and covered in dust. "Let's go-go-go!"

Wait a second. He looked better at the people who made it into this hallway. All of them were guys. Not one girl. Where was Brenda? He cast a worried look at the pile of debris and could only hope she wasn't laying underneath it. Then he noticed Thomas was missing too. She must have run in the other direction, along with that boy. She must have. Jorge kept telling himself that while he forced himself to turn away and to start running, so he could catch up with the group. Brenda was alive. She just had to be.


	2. Chapter 2: Escape the tunnels

**Chapter 2: Escape the tunnels**

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"Go left!" the Hispanic man shouted to the guy in front of the running Gladers.

Jorge was the only one who knew these hallways inside out, so he should lead them out of this mess. A quick glance over his shoulder made him run even faster. They were definitely not yet out of the woods. The crack had managed to keep up with them, which caused the tunnel to become more and more unstable, until it reached a tipping point – it now started to collapse, and fast too.

"_Mierda_," he cursed under his breath, while he urged himself to keep those legs moving.

Soon he caught up with the group and saw that Minho had taken up the leadership role – which was not really that surprising, he thought to himself. He wriggled himself between two Gladers, one of them had a limp, and sprinted past Minho, then made a gesture to follow him.

"Come on! This way!"

"What do you think you're doing, slinthead?" the Asian boy interrupted him, making a sudden stop and checking out the possible corridors himself. "I'm leading over here. You can't tell us what to do."

Jorge also came to a halt. "Seriously? You want to do this now?" His eyes flickered over Minho's shoulder, to the collapsing hallway behind them, the same hallway they had just rushed through. The falling pieces of cement and metal were not slowing down, no, if anything, they seemed to have picked up the pace. "Well, if you want to be crushed, be my guest. But I'm going this way, _hermano_."

Having said that, he turned to the passageway on his right and ran in that direction. He could honestly care less if the Gladers would follow him – even though he should make sure that at least some of them would survive, since that was his mission. His thoughts, however, were with Brenda. He hoped she was okay – she was tough enough, he knew that. But his worry for her did not leave a lot of room for irritations like Minho's attitude and for care for the Gladers. Jorge was used to looking after himself for quite some time, that is, until he met Brenda in that camp in Alaska. She was alone, just like him. She confided in him, told him about her dad who was killed by WICKED and about her mom who, after catching the Flare, pushed her away – and that made him feel like he was needed. Someone else, besides himself, needed him. His mental walls, which were put up due to the dire necessity of having to act selfish, came crumbling down. Jorge had sworn to himself that he would do anything to keep Brenda safe. She was now the family he once had, but lost.

It didn't took long before he heard footsteps behind him. Apparently, Minho valued his life more than having the leadership role. Or, the other Gladers chose this for him, not wanting to perish in the debris. The Asian boy appeared next to him. "So, I guess you know the way, then?"

Jorge nodded. "Yeah, it's not that far anymore."

They ran for several meters without speaking, all the while haunted by the destructive noises that echoed through the hallways. Jorge noticed that the sounds seemed to come farther away from them now and thought he heard less collapsing. He slowed down a bit.

"I think it stopped."

Minho also slowed his pace and listened carefully. Before he could say something though, an other Glader joined them and announced the same thing. Jorge recognized him as the one with the limp. The thing he noticed next was the thick accent.

"Look like there's no more bloody walls fallin' down."

"Good that. Is everybody okay?" Minho asked the boy with the ash-blond hair, whose name Jorge still didn't know.

"Think so. But Thomas is missing."

Minho looked like he was about to utter another one of those weird words Jorge kept hearing. Words like 'shuck', 'shank' and 'slinthead'. Whose meaning he just had to guess. Before he could say it, however, Jorge added, "So is Brenda. I think they were cut off from us when the stairwell collapsed."

"Yeah, how did that happen anyway?"

Jorge shifted his gaze at the other Glader, who seemed to be second in command. "Probably Barkley and the other Cranks," he said grimly.

Minho had a confused look on his face. "Wait, but aren't they the ones we just saw - your followers?"

"Not really loyal _muchachos_, are they?" was his sarcastic response. "Barkley wanted to be the leader since day one. That's what you'll get when one doesn't accept the leadership of an other." This was not at all a low blow at Minho's difficult behavior earlier.

"So, what's the plan?" the other boy quickly interferred, exchanging looks between both Minho and Jorge.

"We've got to find a way to reach Thomas - and the girl," Minho said decisively. "Find another way into the hallway they were in."

"I don't think they will be there anymore. Knowing Brenda, she would probably have gone deeper into the tunnels. She knows them inside out, so she will look for another exit. Our best bet is to be there when they reach said exit." Both the Gladers looked at him as if he was speaking Spanish, not getting the point he was trying to make. Some of the other boys had gathered around them as well. Jorge rolled his eyes. "There aren't a lot of exits that are still... accessible, which means they will get out somewhere in the middle of the city. We'll get out here and wait for them at one of these other exits. _Comprende_?"

Jorge glanced at Minho and his second in command. The Asian seemed to hesitate for a second, presumably because he didn't want to admit that it was a good plan. Well, the best possible plan. He hadn't told them about the danger of being out in the open, which would increase if they were indeed about to get closer to the centre of this condemned city.

"Uh, guys?" A dark-colored guy sought their attention. "I don't feel like standing here forever. So, hurry up with deciding already."

Someone else agreed. "Yeah, I don't really feel like being crushed. Unless it's by a girl."

A few snickers rebounced through the hallway.

"Okay, let's get out of here then!" Minho announced.

The Hispanic rolled his eyes again. Finally. He didn't wait any longer and guided them through the tunnels. A few lefts and rights - and they reached an exit which had fallen into decay, even more so than the one they had entered. He walked up the steps two at the time, but came to an abrupt stop when he saw who stood at the top of the stairwell.

A older, tough-looking man flashed a grin in his direction. He held a nasty dagger in one hand and a big hammer in the other. "Hi there, Jorge. I have been waiting for you." Several other Cranks appeared behind him, just as ready for battle as Barkley was.


	3. Chapter 3: Fighting Cranks

_**Author's note**: it took me somewhat longer than expected, but here it is. I hope you like it and as always, I would love to hear what you guys think! So, don't be shy with reviewing and giving me tips or suggestions. This chapter is a bit longer than the previous ones, so enjoy reading:_

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**Chapter 3: Fighting Cranks  
**

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"Barkley." Jorge acknowledged him with a slow nod. His facial expression was composed, except for his brown eyes that revealed the suspicion he was feeling. "I didn't know you had trouble hearing. I thought I specifically ordered you to lead 'em to the Tower."

"Oh, my hearing is fine," Barkley said, still flashing his grin. "It is just you I've been having trouble with."

"Oh yeah? And why is that?"

He only asked this to postpone the seemingly inevitable fight and to give himself some time to prepare. While he heard the Gladers behind him asking what was going on, his eyes darted at every individual Crank. He knew them only for a week now. They were with ten persons, ranging in age, gender and skin tone. Ten Cranks to eleven of them. The numbers seemed reasonable, but that was without considering the weapons they had – and the Gladers didn't have. Also, these people were on the verge of going crazy and had nothing to lose.

"Because I am a better leader than you will ever b-..."

"What the shuck?" Minho exclaimed when he reached the top of the stairwell, as one of the last Gladers. "Who is this shank? And what does he want?"

Barkley looked enraged at the Asian boy, then shifted his gaze again to Jorge and growled. He actually growled, like he was some kind of animal. Jorge realized that the older man was about to lose it. No, not about to. He was losing it right now.

"Stay back," Jorged warned the Crank, all the while grabbing hold of the knife in his pockets pants. But it was already too late. With an inhumane scream, the tough-looking Crank jumped at him, his big hammer raised in the air. Jorge managed, only barely, to dive out of the way, quickly scrambling back on his feet and holding out his knife. He crouched and prepared himself for another attempt, while making a threatening impression. "You do not want to test me, _hermano_."

"Actually, I do want to. You'll be dead soon," Barkley said menacing and he smiled like a mad man, then slowly circled around his Hispanic adversary.

The other Cranks encouraged the fight between Barkley and Jorge and shouted some cheers, but kept their distance – for now.

Jorge averted his eyes for just a second to glance in the direction of the Gladers. He saw that most of them were confused and simply waiting to see what would happen next. _Come on, guys. Get ready_. He wanted to shout that to them. The other Cranks wouldn't wait much longer now. Movement out of the corner of his eye attracted his attention. When he turned his head, he saw a nasty dagger coming his way. It slashed close to his chest and only missed him because he had taken a step back. Before Barkley could take another swing at him, he grabbed the man's arm and kept the weapon out of reach. Jorge's knee made contact with Barkley's stomach, then, when he let the Crank go, he punched him in the face.

His opponent staggered and took a few steps back to regain his balance. Barkley's grin had disappeared completely. It was replaced by a look of hatred. That couldn't be good.

"Are you okay?" someone from the other Cranks asked him.

"Oh, shut up and fight!" Barkley snapped. "Get them. Get them all!"

Some of Cranks looked like they couldn't wait any longer, whereas a few others seemed to hesitate. Would they really turn on him, their leader, so soon? Jorge almost felt hurt, were it not the case that he knew all too well what the Flare did to a normal person. It would transform the most decent of men or women into wild dogs. Before the first one could attack, however, Minho interfered.

"Woah, hey, wait a second. We've got nothing to do with this. You can have Jorge." He shrugged indifferently. "I don't care. Just leave us out of it."

Jorged glanced at the Asian boy. "Thanks, man," he replied sarcastically. If that really was the case, the numbers had drastically changed. One man against ten Cranks. Not really comforting. He had to do something before it got out of hand – and he had to do it fast.

Barkley was barking orders at the Cranks and signaled to back him up.

That was the moment Jorge took matters in his own hands. He crept closer while the man wasn't looking at him, and pressed his knife against Barkley's throat. "Don't move," he hissed sharply, both to Barkley as to the approaching Cranks. "Listen to me, _puta madre_. You can have those Cranks, I don't want to lead anymore. Just get out of here and leave us be."

Jorge thought it was a fair proposal. However, reason seemed to have left Barkley a long time ago. The man pulled at Jorge's arm and brought it to his mouth.

"Ouch!"

With a jolt, Jorge subtracted his arm and incidentally cut Barkley on his cheek, in the midst of the chaos. Had the Crank just bitten him? Really? Before he had time to convert his dismay into words, though, Barkley punched his jaw and swept him off his feet. Soon, they were rolling on the ground, fighting for the leadership Jorge didn't even want anymore. The man was strong for his age, very strong, and kept pushing him down. Jorge fought hard to keep the hammer out of his reach, even though he felt several punches and a few slashes hitting his body. He vaguely noticed that the other Cranks surrounded them and started to help their newest self-acclaimed leader by kicking him in the ribs. They grabbed his flailing arms and, while he desperately tried to move away from Barkley, held him firmly at the spot. Barkley, now having a free hand, lifted his heavy hammer. "You're a dead man!" he shouted maniacally, then swung the weapon in Jorge's direction.

He had almost squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see what kind of impact that thing would make on his face. Midway, however, someone got hold of the hammer and twirled it towards the attacker himself. While seeing this, though not really believing it, Jorge heard Minho's voice.

"Newt! What are you shuckin' doing?"

The words came out screaming and slowly it dawned on Jorge that someone was actually coming to his rescue. This realization was quickly followed by a sickening sound of something breaking, which cut him lose out of a trance-like slow-motion.

"Crack," Barkley's nose replied to the metal head of the hammer touching the bone. The older Crank cried out in pain, released the weapon and clutched his nose.

Jorge responded quickly. In the midst of the chaos, he freed himself of the other Cranks by giving every random person who got too close to him either a elbow in their face or by kicking them in the kneecaps. He saw that every Glader had joined the fight in the meanwhile, which leveled his chance at surviving this. Their chance at surviving this. After he got on his feet, he could see past Barkley and recognized his rescuer as the boy with the ash-blond hair, the one who had a limp. Jorge was about to say something to express his gratitude, when the older Crank let go of his nose and swirled the knife towards Newt.

"No!" Jorge yelled. His eyes widened in shock, upon seeing the Glader taking a hit and collapsing to the ground. Anger got the upper hand. He had soon crossed the distance between Barkley and himself, having snatched a knife from the dusty ground on the way there, and thrust it in the man's chest. "You're not going to hurt one more person, _comprende_?"

Barkley was grasping for air, but soon stopped breathing all together. The man's eyes had grown dim. Jorge's fingers let go of the handle of the knife, which caused the Crank to plummet as dead weight, literally. He did not wait to see Barkley make contact with the ground and rushed to the fallen boy.


	4. Chapter 4: Binding factor

**Chapter 4: Binding factor**

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"Hey, _muchacho_! Are you okay?"

Which was a stupid question, of course. Jorge knelt down beside the boy, heard him groan and saw the blood oozing from the wound, dripping on the dusty ground. His eyes registered the knife, still sticking out of Newt's chest, which was just below his collarbone. Phew. That could have been worse, a lot worse. However, Newt didn't seem to agree with this deduction. The boy's head wobbled and his gaze was drowsy.

"Boy! Stay with me, Newt! That is your name, right?" Jorge shook firmly at the shoulder of the wounded Glader, suddenly remembering the name Minho had called out when the boy came to his rescue. "You gotta keep awake. Talk to me."

Newt regained the focus in his eyes and it looked as if he wanted to say something, but instead, he heaved his index finger to point at something behind Jorge. Before the Hispanic man could turn around, however, he was knocked over by the impact of someone running him down.

"It's your shuckin' fault!" Minho screamed angrily and started to punch him.

Jorge quickly raised his arms to ward off any attacks. "Woah, stop it. I didn't ask for his help," he defended himself. He was about to reverse the roles and pin the Asian boy down, when Minho suddenly retracted and shoved towards Next.

"What did you say?"

"I said," Newt repeated while panting, "keep ya bloody mitts off of him. We need him."

"What?!" Minho almost spit in Newt's face. He wasn't handling it very gently, with his friend being wounded and all. "No way! We don't need this shank."

Jorge knocked off the dust from his clothes and walked over there again. "Guys, I'm right here. If you going to gossip about me, you better do it somewhere else," he said with a collected voice. That didn't have a soothing effect on Minho, quite the opposite actually. With a nod at Newt, Jorge continued, "And he is right. You guys need me to lead you through the city."

Minho's aversion was just as obvious as his anger for the man they had only known for an hour or so. But somehow, he managed to keep it under wraps – well, in the sense that he didn't transform his dislike for Jorge in physical actions. "What about Newt?"

"We'll patch him up. But first..." Jorge's knees hit the ground with a soft thump. "We've got to stop the bleeding. Quick, put your hand around the wound, but don't pull out the knife yet." His last words sounded urgent. He watched as Minho put his hands carefully on the injury, still causing Newt to whimper in pain. "Good. Isn't it great I decided to let you keep your fingers? Otherwise, this would have been a bit difficult for you."

"Stop messing around and help Newt!" was Minho's retort.

"Okay, okay. I'm just saying. Can I...?"

Some loud noises interrupted him. Jorge cast a superficial glance at the fight that was almost over. Most of the Cranks had lost their conviction, when seeing their new leader dead. The few that remained, were now being chased away by Gladers, screaming their victory.

"Can you – what?" Minho insisted.

"Oh, um, can I use your... what is it? Bandana, or something?" Jorge struggled to find the right word for the thing Minho was wearing around his head. "I want to use it to stop the blood. We then need to get him somewhere safe and stitch him up." With the fabric, which seemed to be a part of a ripped sheet, he put on a makeshift bandage around Newt's shoulder. A pensive look appeared on his face as he watched the sky. "It's getting late too. We need to find shelter anyway."

"Do you know a place?"

"I think I do, _hermano_. Follow me."

Minho instructed four of the other Gladers to carry Newt, explicitly telling them to keep the body as still as possible whilst moving, since the knife had not yet been removed.

"Is it far?"

"Not too far. We'll be there soon. But keep your eyes open."

Luckily, they did not encounter any more problems and arrived at an abandoned warehouse. The ashes on the floor, however, told them it hadn't always been empty. Jorge shortly talked with Minho and suggested to have two or three boys standing guard at the several exits, at all times. Then, he gathered some supplies and had Newt brought into a small room, next to the one the rest of the Gladers were sitting. Minho observed tentatively as he was holding a needle into the flame of his lighter.

"Go," Jorged beckoned. "You're making me nervous. Let me work. He'll be alright, I promise."

Reluctantly, the leader of group A disappeared.

Jorge took a breath. It had been a while since he did this. Treating someone who was wounded. It kind of felt like he was back in the force. Back on the battle ground, or battle air in his case, so to speak. But then again, being in this city could equally be called a war zone. With steady hands, he stuffed a piece of wood between Newt's teeth and pulled the knife out of his chest. The wound immediately started to bleed more. It was flowing freely, that is, until he wiped most of it off and punctured the skin with needle and thread to sew it shut. Fortunately for Newt, the boy had lost his consciousness the moment they had entered their shelter for the night. However, the patient suddenly began to twist in agony while Jorge was busy finishing up the last stitches.

"Stay still," he ordered Newt, while he exerted pressure on his chest to keep him from moving too much. "You're gonna be okay, _compadre_, but you've got to stay still." Ignoring the painful grunts, Jorge closed the last bit of the wound with the thread. He carefully cleaned Newt's chest from the blood remains, some of which had already dried, while fresher fluid had managed to escape the injury while operating. Then he sat back and announced that he was done.

Newt's blue eyes were a bit hazy from the pain, but somehow, he managed to pull himself up by using the arm attached to his unharmed shoulder. A soft moan eluded his lips. His gaze shifted from Jorge to the stitched wound beneath his collarbone – and back to Jorge again. "I'm one lucky bugger, ain't I? Thanks, mate."

"Don't mention it. I should be the one thanking you. You saved my life."

"Well, I guess we're even now."

Jorge laughed and was relieved to see Newt somewhat grinning himself. "I guess so."

After collecting the things he had used and stuffing some of them in his backpack, his eyes caught a dark spot on Newt's body, just beneath the back of his neck, therefore normally concealed by his clothing. He looked more closely, recognizing the dark spot as a tattoo which consisted of words etched into the skin. It read: _Property of WICKED. Group A, Subject A5. The Glue_. Hesitating for a second, he decided to ask Newt about this, pointing at the tattoo. "Why do you have this? What does this mean, 'The Glue'? Are you the one that keeps this group together or something?"

At first, the boy with the ash-blonde hair looked surprised at the question, then shrugged his shoulders, stopping when he realized it was hurting him. "Maybe. That's what Thomas said, ya know? But I don't always feel like I'm keeping it together m'self, so how could I do that for the others?" His eyes had drifted to the ground while talking, but now met Jorge's again. "Still, they bloody well seem to think so. These slintheads from WICKED," Newt added a bit grouchy.

Jorge couldn't tell whether it was because of the burning pain he must still be experiencing, or because he didn't like the ink that was forced upon his body. Or just because of a general feeling towards WICKED. He couldn't say he disagreed, though. However, WICKED was right about one thing. Jorge knew Newt only for a few hours, but he could already tell: that boy was the reason the Gladers stuck together. He was like a binding factor.


	5. Chapter 5: What's the plan?

_**Author's Note: **Sorry for the delay, my faithful readers! I've been having difficulty with finding inspiration, but also with the ordering of the chapters. The chapter I originally meant as the fifth one is as good as finished, but will be placed after this one, for chronological reasons. This chapter is sort of a filler about who has the leadership role in the group: Jorge or Minho. After this, prepare yourself for more information on Jorge's past..._

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**Chapter 5: What's the plan?**

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Right about the same time, while Jorge was contemplating Newt as the binding factor, Minho entered the room.

"What are you two shanks talking about?"

Jorge didn't really know the boy, but he thought he heard some kind of jealousy in his voice. He raised one of his eyebrows and tried to read Minho's expression. "Not much. I was asking Newt about his tattoo," he answered eventually. "Does every one of you guys have them?"

"That's none of your shuckin' business," Minho snapped.

He held up his hands in a conciliatory attempt. "Woah, relax, _muchacho_."

An enraged glimpse flashed in Minho's eyes, just before the Glader stepped towards him and brought his face close to Jorge's. "I will not relax – and I'm most definitely not your friend," he emphasized.

The message came across loud and clear. In spite of his attitude, Jorge did not budge and calmly produced an answer: "It actually means 'boy', but that's okay. We don't have to be friends."

"Minho," Newt said with a sigh. "Don't be like that. I'm fine now, by the way."

"Good that," the Asian boy replied, then moved closer to his friend, while giving Jorge an unfriendly stare on his way there. "Now, why the shuck did you try to catch a knife with your body?"

Newt let out some kind of snort that sounded like a sarcastic chuckle. "Well, at least I bloody well succeeded."

"I don't think knives are meant to be stuck in your body," Jorge added just as dryly.

Of course, this interference made Minho look up and send another one of those angry glances in his direction. Jorge accepted it with a smirk on his face. Somehow, Minho managed to look offended by this.

"No, they are most definitely not meant for that," the leader of the Gladers finally muttered, surprising Jorge with this statement. Did Minho just agreed with something he had said? The boy, however, quickly continued. "So, you cannot call that succeeding. What you did succeed in, was earning yourself the title of the stupidest shank I know. And I thought nobody could surpass Thomas's stupidity."

"Ain't you just a ray of sunshine today," Newt grunted between heaving himself up to a better sitting position.

Minho nodded. "I know, right? As scorching as the sun at noon in this shuckin' place."

Jorge couldn't help but smile upon hearing this conversation. It was clear they cared for each other, no matter how hard they tried to conceal it by acting tough – which seemed to be the default mental outlook in Minho's case. They were the best of mates, despite their differences.

"That's probably why Rat Man called it the Scorch Trials...," Newt continued. "It feels like the sun has gotten way hotter than it shoulda been."

"You'll get used to it," Jorge said with a shrug. His tanned skin was an indication for having had more than enough sunlight in his days here. It wasn't just that, though. He had grown up with a lot of sun when he lived in México, but that was a story for another time. Seeing that he was going to be stuck with the Gladers for a while, he tried to make friendly conversation with Minho. "However, it looks like you burned yourself in this heat. What's up with that?"

At first, the Asian kid seemed unwilling to provide him with an answer. But maybe the mere prospect of acting tough had convinced him. "Oh, I got struck by lightning," he mentioned nonchalantly.

"What?!"

Newt grinned. "Yeah, and now he is even crazier than before."

"Is this for real? How on earth did you survive that?" It was the most ridiculous thing he had heard in his life, but Jorge knew it had to be the truth. The day the Gladers arrived, an ominous storm had been passing the city. He squinted to see the burns more clearly. Minho's clothes were torn, ragged and charred; therefore in an even worse state than the other guys's garments. Somehow, his hair had been spared during the ordeal. "Don't you need, like, medical help?"

"All the Med-Jacks are dead, so I guess not."

Jorge hesitated for a second. "Maybe I can help? I know some stuff."

"Nah, I'll be alright."

Even though Minho still said it casually, his eyes shot back questioningly at the Hispanic man, almost as if he was trying to figure out what Jorge had to gain by offering his help. While that was just what he was trying to do. Helping. Okay, and maybe making it easier on himself to come across as likeable.

"Guys?" One of other Gladers stuck his head in the opening where once had been a door, but now only the rusted hinges were proof of that. "Frypan has gotten us warm food, so you better not waste it and get over here."

They assembled in the other room, which Jorge called the 'common area' in his mind. Soon, every individual was enjoying the canned meal. Jorge had to admit that it tasted a whole lot better when it was warmed up.

A boy with brownish hair, Jorge thought he heard some of others refer to him as Dmitri, broke the silence with a question. "So, what's the plan?"

"Yeah, what's our next step here?" someone else added, whose name he did not know.

"Well...," he started to say, almost simultaneously with Minho. They looked at each other, at first startled, then their expressions flowed into different kinds of emotions. In Minho's case, the emotion coming after the initial shock was irritation. Jorge restrained himself and made a gesture with his hand, suggesting that Minho should continue.

"Tomorrow, we'll get deeper into the city. There, we'll meet up with Thomas and the girl." Minho apparently decided to tell them the short version. "And then, we'll get the shuck out of this hellhole and keep moving towards the safe haven."

The girl? She had a name, you know, Jorge thought to himself.

"How do you know where to meet with Thomas and that girl?" a dark-colored boy asked.

Jorge assumed this was Frypan, for he was the one who distributed the food. Wondering how Minho was going to answer this, with his lack of knowledge about the workings of this city, he waited for a second and hid his amusement when he saw the Asian boy struggling to come up with something - but then stepped in. He came across calm and at ease, as if he was used to addressing groups, while he got the Gladers's attention by clearing his throat. "I know these tunnels, I know the ways they could lead to and above all, I know how Brenda thinks – that's the girl's name, by the way." Hidden in his last words was a concealed warning directed at everyone present not to keep referring to Brenda as 'that girl'.

Minho took the lead again. "Yeah, so, we'll look for these exits to find 'em."

"Exactly," Jorge agreed, while ignoring the annoyed look on Minho's face for opening his mouth again. "But keep in mind, though, the Cranks downtown are nastier than the ones we encountered today."


	6. Chapter 6: Personal

**Chapter 6: Personal**

* * *

_One moment, he had silently been sitting at the table and reading a book; the next, he charged his older brother. The violent scratches Jorge felt piercing his skin, indicated that this wasn't just meant as playful rollicking, no, he knew it was that time again. _

_His eyes quickly darted to the girl in the room. "Ana, get out of here!" he warned. _

_Despite the aghast expression on her face, she complied and hastily left through the door, slamming it shut on her way out. _

"_Joaquin, stop it!" Jorge yelled, even though he should have known better than to try to get through to the state his younger brother currently was in. He pulled at one of Joaquin's arms, threw him onto the ground and pinned him down. "You're not yourself. Stay calm. Take a deep breath."_

_It did not help. _

_Jorge had to strain himself to get the flailing arms in control and to keep pushing the boy's body on the floor, even though Joaquin wasn't normally that strong. The Flare, however, triggered the strongest of emotions: pure hatred, burning rage and the urge to survive. With one hand, he reached for the rope, so that he could bind his brother until he was sane again. It was something he had done for weeks now. But the Flare kept taking possession of his brother's body. It came back sooner than the time before. And it stayed like that longer._

"_Nooooo!" Joaquin screamed with a hoarse voice, almost like he was an animal in pain. He thrashed around, twisted uncontrollably and somehow managed to get himself free._

_Bewildered by a whack of Joaquin's elbow, Jorge grabbed his jaw and tried to maintain his balance, as he stood up. He quickly located his brother. Luckily, Joaquin hadn't run outside. In here, at least, he could keep Ana out of the picture. _

_The younger boy huddled in the corner of the room, almost as if something inside him had broken down. Where was the rage? The will to survive? Or didn't he see Jorge as a threat? _

_Slowly, and a bit hesitantly, Jorge came closer. In his left hand, he held the rope. The other one was behind his back, feeling for the gun that was tucked under the band of his pants. His gaze never left his brother's side, while he took another step towards him. _

_Somewhere in his subconsciousness, somehow, he realized something weird. It almost burst the unconscious bubble he was in, since it wasn't something he was supposed to know then. What he realized, was that Joaquin kind of looked like the Hispanic version of Minho. The boy had the same spiky dark-colored hair and was about the same age, maybe a bit younger, but wasn't nearly as muscular as his Asian look-a-like. That could be explained very easily: his brother was no daredevil. Unlike Minho, Joaquin was someone who thought before he reacted. He thought everything through. Most of the time, he actually taught Jorge something, instead of the other way around, as it should have been. All this changed, however, whenever the Flare took over. Jorge felt helpless in those moments, seeing his brother transform in front of his eyes. Seeing him... like a monster, trapped in a young boy's body. But he learned to recognize it. When it happened, the look in his eyes would change from contemplative to ferocious. Then Jorge knew the Flare had won, once again. At first, it didn't last longer than a few seconds. It grew to be minutes, hours, even days, before Joaquin's rationality kicked in again._

"_Don't come any closer," the boy whispered. _

_It surprised Jorge. The voice had sounded human. It sounded as though Joaquin was back. He had not expected it yet, since the last time it lasted several days before this state left his body. It was probably a temporary lucid moment, he concluded. Still, why would he want him to stay away? Joaquin knew that they needed to make use of such moments – to keep him from hurting others. _

"_It's okay. I won't hurt you. But it's best if I tie you up, yes?"_

"_No, not again. Please," Joaquin begged. There was pain in his eyes, in his voice, in every part of his being. It was as if his soul cried. It screamed at this unwanted sickness. _

_Jorge knew what he wanted. "No, Joaquin. I'm not going to kill you. Soon, there will be a cure," he protested desperately, knowing full well he was clinging at straws. It was no guarantee there would ever be a cure. _

_The boy walked stiffly towards him, almost dragging his unwilling legs, and looked at him with tears in his bright eyes. "Jorge, brother, please. I can't live like this anymore. Do it for me."_

_Once again, for the last time in his life, Joaquin was right, that smart kid. He was too young to deal with this kind of pain. Too damn young. He shouldn't have to endure this every single time! Jorge's anger quickly diminished, leaving him only with this dreary feeling. Then, there was only one thing to do. It was a decision he did not want to make. One he never thought he was capable of, not ever, until this very moment. As though his hands had decided without his mind, he clutched the pistol and pointed it at Joaquin's forehead. Dazed at his own movement, he watched how the barrel of the gun left an imprint on his brother's skin. Right there and then, Jorge knew he had to do it. _

_His voice was surprisingly calm. "Close your eyes, little brother."_

_Joaquin wouldn't suffer any longer, if he just pulled the trigger. And he did. _

* * *

"Bang!"

Jorge groaned and rubbed the back of his head. That would probably become a bump. During the aftermath of his dream, he had somehow managed to smack his head against the wall. He slumped back onto the ground, his eyes staring into nothingness. Although his body still hurt from the attacking Cranks, the last memory he had of his brother was way more painful.

"You always sleep like that? 'Cause it's weird," a familiar voice broke the silence.

Startled, Jorge turned to see who said that and located that person in the corner close to where Newt was sleeping. For just a second, he thought it was Joaquin, but then he saw the mocking expression on the boy's face. It was Minho.

"You were whimpering in your sleep and all of a sudden, you shoot up and bang your head against the wall. Not a smart shank, you are."

He did not feel like explaining to Minho why his memories still haunted him – especially at moments when he had been given time to think about it, like at night. "I just... I don't know," he started off wrong, feeling upset and nauseous at the same time. "Why are you still awake?"

This time Minho stayed quiet, while his gaze wandered to the blond boy.

"Newt'll be alright. You need your sleep too. If it makes you feel any better, I'll watch over him for a while now," Jorge suggested. Like he could have gone back to sleep, even if he wanted to.

Minho stood up, however. "Whatever. I'm gonna take a piss."

Jorge's eyes followed the Asian boy leaving the room, then changed its focus and stared into nothingness again. He felt numb and unable to stop thinking about his past. After having served three years in the United States Air Forces (USAF), he had returned home. To México. At first, his job at the military had given his family the necessary resources to continue living there. Of course, it was not the safest job, but hey, he was still breathing. Which was more than he could say of his family members. Just like the USAF, being at home, involved getting caught in the middle of an ongoing (drug) war and having to fear for your life every single day. That had happened to the Gallaparga family on several occasions. It took only one bullet to deprive them of their mother. With his father being gone for as long as Jorge could remember, he felt that the responsible thing to do was to quit his job and go check up on his younger brother and sister. Look how well that had turned out...

* * *

**Author's note: **_This chapter took a little bit more time, because it goes deeper into Jorge's past and how that formed him as the man we know now – and I definitely wanted to get it right, or at least believable. So, yeah, I really hope you like it, although it's pretty sad... Let me know what you think! Suggestions are also always welcome. Are there things you would like to see in the following chapters? _


	7. Chapter 7: War zone

**Chapter 7: War zone**

* * *

After having relived his past, Jorge did not feel like sleeping anymore. At least not that night. He watched Newt for a while, saw Minho finally getting some sleep and relieved Dmitri from his guarding duty. The darkness of the night wasn't without its lurking dangers, mysterious noises and most likely its victims, but none of them were directed towards the Gladers and him. He could only hope that Brenda and Thomas were just as lucky.

While he watched the sun setting, he wondered how its arrival could be such a relieve and a torture at the same time. A relieve, because it meant he was still alive to witness it. A torture, because it also meant ongoing aching for the ones who weren't here anymore. Their stories were unknown to many and would soon be forgotten by the few who did know them, except for the ones carrying it forever in their hearts.

Stop it now, he reprimanded himself. All the pondering in the world wouldn't bring back Joaquin. Or anyone else, for that matter. Mourning wouldn't either. Jorge got himself together, walked over to the sleeping leader of the Gladers and pulled at his shoulder.

"Rise and shine, _her-_..."

For reasons that were all too clear to him now, he couldn't finish the sentence with the word '_hermano_', which was normally just something he uttered without thinking about it. No, knowing why Minho looked so familiar and what probably had triggered the memories of Joaquin's death, now stronger than ever – knowing all that, he couldn't call him a 'brother', even if it just was a figure of speech.

Minho had only stirred in his sleep, muttering something about a Griever and having to run, then turned and dreamed on.

Jorge was glad that the Asian boy hadn't seen him just standing there, as frozen as an ice sculpture could be, when the realization of his unwilling mouth had hit him. However, he did need him to wake up. He shrugged and then kicked Minho in his thigh.

"Wake up, _muchacho_!"

With a jolt, the boy opened his eyes and grabbed his attacker's leg, swinging him onto the ground. Jorge crashed with his back on floor that was covered with ashes and dirt, effectively waking up Newt as well. That was going to leave another bruise. Wonderful. Still, not wanting to give Minho the satisfaction of managing to surprise him, he put a big smile on his face and let out a short laugh, while meeting the dazed gaze of his attacker.

"Ha. Good morning to you too, sunshine."

Minho muttered something, but what remained unclear. All Jorge could hear was something with 'shuck'. It would be a good guess, he thought, to say that Minho wasn't a morning person. He pushed himself up from the ground and quickly landed on his feet again, thanks to some acrobatic move which included standing up from a laying position in a single maneuver.

"Ya know how to make a bloody entrance, mate," Newt said matter-of-factly, but with a certain amusement in his tone.

Jorge grinned – and he realized it wasn't fake this time. "Yeah, well, at least you guys are awake now. We better get moving. The sooner we find Brenda and Thomas, the better."

"Good that," the blond boy agreed. Newt held his hand against the wound, then groaned softly when he got up. He turned his attention to his friend who was rubbing in his eyes. "Minho, get your shuckin' ass out of bed. You're the leader. So lead by example."

Jorge hid the smirk that appeared on his face by leaving the room and waking up the rest of the Gladers. Soon, after having had something to eat, they left their shelter and found their way back to the main street, which would lead them towards the center of the city.

"Stay together," he said to the boys before stepping out of the shadows of the cramped alley they were standing in. "And keep an eye on each other's backs."

Minho rolled his eyes, but for once, kept his mouth shut. He did not give a snappy comment on how Jorge took it upon himself to address _his_ group of Gladers. Instead, he gestured them to wait and checked the surroundings. There was no one to be seen. Not one person dared to go outside, not even in broad daylight.

"I think it's safe," Minho broke the eery silence. His voice, even though it was some kind of hoarse whisper, still seemed too loud for the almost palpable tension in the air.

"It's not," Jorge said, looking indifferently. Then he stepped into the scorching sunlight and walked right to the middle of the empty street.

"What ya doin'?" Newt hissed, holding out his hands in confusion. The look on his face said more than enough. It asked Jorge if he had gone crazy. Or if he just wanted to die. Well, maybe. It sure was a bold move, but he had his reasons.

Seeing the same shocked expression on every one of the Gladers's faces, he grinned. Then, he waved them over. "Come on. We haven't got all day."

Minho was the first to move, with Newt and Frypan at his heels. Dmitri and the six other Gladers followed swiftly. Jorge met the Asian's gaze with a smirk. He thought that boy was the only one who managed to look plain angry whenever confusion or fear were the more logical choices.

"What the shuck, man? You just said it wasn't safe," Minho snapped irritatedly.

Jorge shrugged. "I know. But, hey, it's never safe here. So, we better just make sure that everyone knows we're here – and that we're not afraid of them."

The tactic seemed to be working. Even though there were just eleven of them, the Cranks kept their distance, probably thinking that it was unwise to attack the fearless group. After all, there had to be a reason why they walked there like they owned this city, right? Appearances were everything. During their walk, they came across victims of previous quarrels. Some of them looked fresh, whereas other bodies, or what was left of them at least, had started to rot, spreading an unbearable stench.

Frypan picked up a mean looking machete. "It's not like they need it anymore," he said, pointing at the deceased.

"Good that," Minho agreed grimly, grabbed some knives and ordered the others to find some weapons as well. He turned to Jorge. "So, where are these exits you were talking about?"

"The closest one is to our left. Follow me."

Soon, they had visited the first one. No Brenda or Thomas in sights.

"Is it possible they have yet to come out?" Newt asked.

"Yeah, or maybe they are already out. They could be everywhere," someone else added.

After discussing it a while, Minho decided that they should split up into three groups, so that they could check multiple exits at once. Jorge did not really like this idea, even though he knew time could be running out for Brenda and Thomas, but was overruled by the Gladers who were faithful to their leader.

"Okay, well, it seems like I'm not the only one with a death wish," he complied with a sigh. "At least establish a place for everyone to gather at a certain time, so we don't lose more men than necessary. Um, boys, I mean."

Newt frowned, then spoke up. "We're not in the bloody army."

"No, you're not, _muchachos_," Jorge half smiled, both at Newt's keen remark as well as his force of habit by addressing the Gladers the same way as he was spoken to in the air force. "But you guys are in a war zone."

* * *

_**Author's note**: I'm working towards the discovery of hostage taking of Thomas and Brenda. Next chapter will contain more excitement. As always, love to hear your opinion!_


	8. Chapter 8: Shared knowledge?

**Chapter 8: Shared knowledge?**

* * *

Minho's decision to spread out bore fruit almost immediately. It yielded results so quickly that you could say it was even unnecessary to have made that decision. Frypan had wandered off looking for more weapons to use and just happened to stumble upon a hostage taking. That is, a hostage taking that involved Brenda and Thomas being ushered into a building at gunpoint.

"Woah, slow down," Newt said to the cook who was trying to tell what he had seen, but who was still out of breath from running back to the group. "Have some water."

However, Minho started to become restless. Jorge, too, felt himself shifting to impatience. It was like his body told him that he needed to undertake action, right about now. He wanted to know what had happened and what he could do to save Brenda from this. Oh, and Thomas too. But his main concern was Brenda. And yeah, of course it was important for anybody to keep hydrated in this heat, but Jorge just had to know. He couldn't keep it in anymore.

"What did you see, exactly? Who took them?"

"Yeah, and where?" Minho added another question.

"Okay," Frypan said, putting down the bottle of water and taking a deep breath. "In an alleyway not far from here I saw Thomas and Brenda. But they were not alone. There were three other people with them – two men and one woman. They invited them to some party..."

"To a party?" Newt interrupted. His expression was baffled, yet he still managed to say this with a chaffing tone in his voice. "What's there to celebrate?"

"And then what?" Jorge pressed on, impatiently waiting until Frypan would continue.

"So, anyway, they were invited to some party, but it wasn't really by choice, because when Thomas tried to refuse, they grabbed their weapons and forced them to go inside. Oh, and there was something about a special knock to get in."

"That was it?"

Frypan frowned. "No, there was something else. It was weird, but the man that opened the door knew Thomas's name. He said that they were waiting for him, or something. Does that make any sense?"

Dmitri was the first to react, albeit with not the most clever retort. "Huh?"

"Are you for real?" someone else said.

"Is this yet another trial from those shuck Creators?"

Jorge kept his mouth shut, while the Gladers erupted into more questions and utterances of incomprehension. He rolled his eyes and waited till things would calm down. After shutting their voices out, it only sounded as a buzz to his ears. He had a pretty good idea why those Cranks had been waiting for some person named 'Thomas' to arrive in this city. If you believed the plaques all over town, then the leadership role should be assigned to Thomas. What the Cranks didn't know, however, was that it did not concern them. There were stories, almost like myths, that this mysterious Thomas would be their savior. It was most likely that the captors wanted to keep him alive, Jorge concluded in his mind. But what about Brenda?

His worry had taken over, which was why he decided not to wait any longer. "Hey, _muchachos_, listen up!" he shouted to get their attention, ignoring Frypan's last remark and the ruckus created by the other Gladers. "We should be making a plan to free them, not arguing about something as irrelevant as that."

Before meeting with Minho's eyes, which were most likely full of disapproval for his initiative, Jorge's gaze crossed paths with a Glader whose name he did not know, but who looked at him very sharply. It was then that he realized that that boy was the only one who had not engaged in the conversation of how it was possible that the Cranks knew Thomas's name. He made a mental note to keep an eye on that boy.

"A plan?" Minho said mockingly. "I've got one. Let's not shuckin' wait anymore and go get them already."

"I'm not sure if just barging in there is a good idea," Newt pondered. "Frypan said that one of them had a bloody gun – and they could be with a lot more than us."

"Exactly," Jorge agreed. "Besides, if they were invited to a party, the Cranks taking them hostage probably aren't fully gone. Also, the hostage taking indicates that they want them alive for something."

"So, what do you want to do then?"

The question came from the boy who had been silent during the commotion. Jorge suddenly remembered seeing him in the background of almost every meeting between the Gladers. It was as if he wasn't really accepted in the group, or maybe he was just a loner who kept to himself.

"Yeah, tell us your _genius_ plan," Minho insisted, his voice dripping of sarcasm.

While ignoring that, Jorge looked around for a second, formulating a plan in his mind but also almost unconsciously examining the surroundings. "First, Frypan will lead Minho and me to that alley and we'll check it out. The rest of you stay together and go look for food. We're almost running out and I'm guessing that we'll have to bide our time for a perfect moment to free Brenda and Thomas. Cranks that aren't fully gone usually stay in groups – the bigger the safer you are from the craziest Cranks."

"We can meet up in this place, at noon?" Newt suggested.

Jorge nodded and appreciated that the boy with the ash-blond hair was thinking along, even though he must still be experiencing pain from his wound. "_Muy bueno_." His eyes found Minho. "That okay for you?"

"Fine," the Asian reluctantly complied.

"Can I come too?" the loner asked, directing his gaze towards Minho. It felt like he was stroking Minho's ego by acknowledging his leadership – as a tactic to get a positive feedback.

Minho seemed to regain his air of (some might say, overly) self-confidence and straightened his shoulders, his role of leader being validated once again. "Okay, why not? But stay back and keep quiet."

Jorge squeezed his eyes, while he tried to fathom the Gladers's very own outsider. "Who are you, _hermano_? I did not catch your name."

"That's because I haven't said it yet. I'm Aris," the boy introduced himself. "And you're Jorge. Shall we go?"

Minho agreed. "Yeah, let's."

They followed Frypan to the alleyway from where Thomas and Brenda had been abducted. At first, they kept their distance and watched like hawks, hoping to see a glimpse of their friends. After a while, all of them having grown restless, Aris stood up from their hiding place and just simply walked into the dim alley.

"Hey, you shank, get back here!" Minho hissed.

Aris ignored the order and disappeared into the shadows of a dark corner. Finally, his voice broke the dead silence. "Guys, you have to come see this."

Although Jorge had a suspicion about what it was, he couldn't stop the other Gladers from looking. Couldn't or wouldn't? The truth was that he was curious how Minho would react, but he didn't want it to endanger their rescue operation. For some reason, however, Aris focused his gaze at Jorge, piercingly directly at him, when they joined the boy at the end of the alleyway. The look in Aris's eyes puzzled him. It was almost as if... he looked triumphantly at his discovery. Almost as if he had known beforehand that it was there.

* * *

_**Author's note: **This chapter maybe hadn't all the excitement you hoped, but it's getting there. I kind of forgot that Aris was also with the Gladers after they had to split up with Thomas and Brenda (whoops!), so that's why this chapter did not have the rescue mission in it yet. But we're close! I also thought it would be a nice addition to let Minho know what's on the plaque. What do you guys think? _


	9. Chapter 9: Knock (out)

_**Author's note**: Hey guys, sorry for the delay. I think it's best to upload chapters every week, since I am currently really busy studying. But I don't want to leave you guys hanging, so here is a brand new chapter which is longer than usual! (Oh, and I used two lines coming directly from the book.)_

* * *

**Chapter 9: Knock (out)**

* * *

"Look," Aris said, tapping his hand on the plaque. The plaque saying that Thomas was the real leader.

Frypan frowned. "Thomas, you're the real leader?" he read aloud, but saying it in such a manner that it felt like he was asking it – to no one in particular.

Silence followed his words.

Minho looked genuinely confused and baffled at this statement, which, for him, would have been a totally unexpected finding. No dangerous objects or helpful clues. No, not at all. Just WICKED's way to keep messing with their heads. For maybe just a second, Jorge thought he saw a flash of hurt flickering in Minho's eyes. It was so brief that the Hispanic man doubted it almost immediately after the moment he thought he had seen it.

"What is this klunk?" Minho said in his usual answer demanding tone.

"Well..." The boy whose name Jorge had just learned started to speak. He sounded eager, too, almost as if he was happy to share this. "Apparently, Thomas is supposed to lead us – and not you."

At first, Minho just stared at Aris. A cold gaze in the loner's direction, all the while not saying a word. "If you really think that, then why don't you go hide behind Thomas's back and let him make all the tough decisions? You know what, go run off with some random Crank for all I care. I don't give a shuck about any of that. Let's just get him back."

"Yeah," Frypan agreed cordially.

Jorge couldn't really say that it was the most inspiring speech of all times, but hey, it worked. Sort of. It was at least clear that Minho did not like Aris for some reason – although, let's be honest, who did he like enough to not yell at them? More importantly, however, the rescue mission of both Thomas and Brenda was still on the table.

* * *

They had made their plans. After a lot of waiting, which involved keeping guard at the party house 24/7, they managed to figure out the special door knock that would get them in without arousing suspicion beforehand. Dmitri was the one to crack that code, while Jorge, Minho and Newt were busy hatching a plan. Some more waiting – and then it was time for action.

The sun seemed to be hesitating to rise, indicating how early in the morning it was, when the Gladers and he gathered in the infamous alley. Most of the boys hid themselves by huddling near the wall, leaving only Minho and Jorge at the door.

Minho's hand was already in the air, about to pound the wooden obstacle, but then stopped moving. "What was the shuckin' knock again?" the Asian asked with a frown.

"Don't tell me ya forget the bloody code," Newt sighed, holding a baseball bat in his hand and looking rather grim. Despite having had a knife in his chest only a day and a half ago, he seemed as ready to fight as anyone could ever look.

"It's three slow fist thumps, three fast ones and finally two knuckle taps," Dmitri helped him out.

"Yeah, that's it. I knew that," Minho nodded and mumbled, then knocked at the door, just as Dmitri had told him to.

Jorge readied himself when he heard some stumbling, which was followed by the clicking of locks. Then, the door swung open and an enormous guy appeared. The man was huge, really, with tattoos all over and piercings in his ears and face.

"You're too late for the party," the doorkeeper noted matter-of-factly.

He exchanged glances with Minho and flashed a dangerous grin, then looked back at the man who was in their way. "We're bringing a new kind of party, _compadre_," Jorge responded. Without waiting for a reply, he brought out an old wheel cover he had found in the alleyway and whacked the man with it on the head.

The "clang" of the hit echoed loudly through space, after which the big doorkeeper swayed on his feet, but somehow managed to stay upright and grabbed the first one in his reach at his collar, which was Minho. What? How did it NOT knock out that man? For a second, Jorge stared baffled at what was happening in front of his eyes: Minho rashly swinging with his knives – and then, Newt coming to his rescue. The ash-blonde boy simply took a swing with his bat, which landed forcefully in his groin.

Ouch. That had got to hurt.

The pierced and tattooed man moaned and immediately let Minho go, then reached for his man parts. Jorge shifted his gaze towards Newt, a bit shocked.

But the boy with the limp just sighed and turned to Minho. "Mate, do I have to do everything m'self?"

Jorge laughed at this, then hit the doorkeeper once again on the head with the wheel cover. The metal cap dropped onto the ground, simultaneously with the heavy thump of an unconscious body crashing down.

A grunt escaped Minho's lips. "Yeah, right. I had him right where I wanted. Come on, shanks!" he then yelled and led them into battle by running into the room. Jorge followed swiftly, stepping over the man and using the door to bash someone's head in. The next person he came across, got a few punches in the face. Other one an elbow. The most of the people in the room were either drunk or stoned, or both, and just stared dumbfounded at them. However, a few managed to take up arms and prepared themselves for battle. Upon seeing the fighters, he smiled and reached for the long knife hanging from his belt.

"Come on, then. Give it your best shot!" Jorge tried to provoke them.

Newt glanced at him and frowned, but then played along. "Yeah, we can easily take ya on. Or... you could just give yourselves up. We're not after you, but we want our friends back."

Jorge almost looked disappointed. "Oh, yeah, you could do that too. But isn't fighting more exciting though?" he continued with a smirk on his face. Just for show, he swirled his knife in the air and warded off an imaginary adversary. He looked the closest Crank straight into her eyes and showed a fearless grin from ear to ear. "What do you think, _muchacha? Sí? No?_"

The woman hesitantly took a step back and then dropped her weapons. The other Cranks followed her lead.

"Aw, too bad." The tone in Jorge's voice sounded over the top dramatically, revealing the act he had been putting on. He saw that Newt shook his head and let out a laugh, before giving him an innocent look. "What? Is something wrong?"

Aris appeared next to him. "Minho found Thomas – let's get the hell out of here."

"Wait." Jorge sharply looked at the boy. "Brenda too? Where is she?"

Nearing footsteps brought the answer to his questions in the form of a young woman whose long brown hair swayed with every step she came closer. Relief flooded through him when he saw that she was okay. Well, she was okay, right? Jorge frowned slightly upon seeing her expression. She seemed angry, but in a hurting kind of way.

"_Hola_, good to see you. Everything okay? You look like... Wait a second."

He had put his hand on her shoulder and was about to ask what was going on, when he noticed one of the party Cranks sneaking up to Frypan who was standing guard at the door, but who apparently was distracted by something else. Jorge quickly interfered by blocking the tip of a nasty-looking sword with his long knife – which suddenly seemed rather small in comparison to the weapon his opponent was holding. Still, it did not scare him. He had looked death countless times in the eye and it had never won. This time, the threat embodied a tall man that actually looked quite revolting, possibly because of his time in this unhealthy city. With force, Jorge pushed the man away from Frypan's back and kicked him in the kneecap, causing him to stumble and fall. He rested his feet on Tall and Ugly's arm, took the sword from his grasp and let it rest on the man's shoulder.

"If you want to live, stay down!" he ordered when the man tried to get up.

Frypan, as if he was oblivious to the whole thing, stepped further into the room and roared: "Hey, it's Thomas! As ugly and alive as ever!"

"Glad you're not bloody dead, Tommy. I'm really, really glad," he heard Newt saying from a short distance.

Jorge rolled his eyes at Brenda, getting a small smile in return. It put him at ease, even though it did not elude him that she glanced at Thomas as if he had done something wrong. He had better not done something against Brenda's will. Whatever that boy had done, he would most definitely regret it. Jorge would make sure of it.


	10. Chapter 10: Flying bullets

**Chapter 10: Flying bullets**

Out of the corner of his eye, Jorge observed the little reunion of Thomas with the rest of the Gladers, pretending to keep guarding the prisoners all the while.

"You too," Thomas reciprocated at Newt's remark. "Has everyone made it so far? Where'd you guys go? How'd you get here?"

Newt nodded. "Still eleven of us. Plus Jorge."

Jorge's eyes shortly met with Thomas's, when the boy looked around as if he wanted to see for himself that everyone was okay. However, his mouth opened for an outburst of questions before he was even finished checking out the surroundings. Curious.

"Any sign of Barkley and the rest of them? Were they the ones who set off the explosion?"

He was the first to answer it, while shooting a glance of warning in Minho's direction – and Newt's as well. "Haven't seen 'em since. We got away pretty quick, and they're too scared to come deeper into the city."

At first, Jorge almost did not know himself why he fabricated this white lie. But, of course, it was for Brenda. He knew she wasn't fragile, but nevertheless, he wanted to keep the bad stuff from her. Even though she hadn't gotten acquainted with Barkley or the other Cranks that well, he did not want to burden her with any of it. Yeah, sometimes, it made absolutely no sense what you did for your loved ones. Not rationally, that is. Still, for him, it seemed like the right thing to do.

For some reason, however, Thomas barely gave a sign of having received his answer. Instead, he stared distractedly at the man Jorge was holding at swordpoint – if that was even a word – and started to look anxious.

Jorge frowned. What the hell was going on?

Thomas lowered his voice and huddled with Minho and Newt to share something that must be important, but not something he wanted the rest of them to know, apparently. Whereas Jorge only thought: if they were in danger, they should all prepare for it.

"Who gives a klunk?" he heard Minho saying in his usual careless demeanor. Strangely, this comforted Jorge. "We'll be out of this stupid city in an hour. And we should go. Now."

"Okay. I want to get out of here before he comes back," Thomas agreed, leaving Jorge hanging in midair. Who did he mean by that?

"Listen up!" Minho called out and turned to the Crank prisoners, as Jorge was still thinking about which person, all on his own, could be so dangerous that Thomas feared for their safety. "We're leaving now. Don't follow us, you'll be fine. Follow us, you'll be dead. Pretty easy choice, don't ya think?"

Again, he caught Thomas's gaze and met it with a raised eyebrow. If he was wondering about how and when Minho had taken the leadership role from him, he should think twice before saying it out loud. The fact was, Jorge knew when he had to take a step back, but it most definitely didn't mean that he couldn't influence the decisions being made – if he wanted to. The second thing he noticed, was the almost longing look at Brenda, effectively leading to the resurface of Jorge's protectiveness. He turned to Brenda, tried to cheer her up with a friendly wink and watched how most of the Gladers left the building. He motioned for her to step outside as well, turning his attention swiftly to the remaining Cranks, who were with more people than they were. By far. Time for getting their attention on the weapons they had. Jorge kicked Tall and Ugly in the back, pushing him towards the rest of the prisoners, and swung with both his knife and the newly acquired sword. Minho and Newt were doing the same thing with their weapons.

"So long, _muchachos_," he grinned, then stepped out of the building without turning his back towards them, almost bumping into Thomas, who apparently thought that standing still at the doorway seemed like an excellent idea. Jorge rolled his eyes and wriggled his way past him. What was he waiting for? An invitation to leave?

Minho, however, took the words out of his mouth and gave Thomas a push. "Come on, dude. We can make a run for it. There's only about a mile left. These Cranks aren't so hard to fight after all. So let's..."

"Hey!" a harsh voice interrupted the boy.

Although Jorge was sure he hadn't heard that person speak before, he immediately knew that it was bad news. With a jerk, he turned his head to this unknown person, only to have to witness the man pulling the trigger of a gun – and the bullet hitting Thomas's left shoulder. It almost seemed surreal. He could have wondered how the hell the man had gotten his hands on a gun in this city and why he had waited until now to use it (or why use it at all), but instead, he just moved on instinct. Jorge sprinted towards the shooter, grabbed the hand holding the gun and pressed it up in the air. The second shot just barely missed him, the sound bellowing in his ears. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a blur of someone with a dark hairdo lunging with speed and force at the assailant, causing them both to tumble unto the ground.

It left Jorge only with the gun in his hands. Huh? He shook off his confusion and then let the weapon fall. A metal clanking resounded when it hit the cement. Glancing up, he saw Minho punching the living crap out of the blond man he had tackled. He quickly intervened, pulling the boy away and ducking away for any swings in his direction.

"Calm down, boy."

"Let me go! I'm gonna kill that shuckin' shank!"

"Minho."

Although he uttered just one word, there was a clear warning in his voice. For the first time since they met, Jorge called him by his name, which emphasized the urgency of the situation. Minho had to calm down and focus on what mattered. It wasn't Blondie's life he should worry about, but if Thomas would live.

It was as if it woke the Asian teen up. A bit dazed, he stared at Jorge, but then nodded.

Jorge carefully loosened his grip. When it became clear that Minho wouldn't storm off again to repeat his tackle-and-punch mode, he turned to Thomas.

Newt was there too, pressing someone's shirt tightly at the wound. He pulled it off for a second upon seeing Jorge and sent him a questioning look.

"I can get that sucker out of him. But I'll need a fire."

"We can't do this here," Newt responded grimly.

Minho tuned in as well. "Let's get out of this shuck city."

"All right," Jorge agreed. "Help me carry him."

With Minho already to his side, Frypan and Dmitri rushed forwards to lift Thomas from the ground. Jorge nodded at them and then looked at Newt, who slightly held his hand against his own chest, indicating that the pain from his wound was still bothering him as well, but he kept exerting pressure on Thomas's wound.

"Ready?" the boy with the limp said. "On the count of three. One, two, three."

Together they lifted Thomas up, accompanied by his moans in pain. Quickly after that, his body went limp when the poor boy lost his consciousness. Well, maybe it was better to pass out than to keep feeling this pain. Jorge knew that from experience.

"_Vámonos_!" he told the Gladers to move. "Let's go."

A cry from behind urged them even more to get a move on. What? Brenda saw more Cranks coming? Were those the ones without the noses? Jorge wondered. Would they even dare to show themselves in the middle of the day – and attack them? Not likely, but then again: they were practically the paragon of lunacy. They were unpredictable as hell.

And Jorge sure wasn't going to wait to find out.

_**Author's note**: Again, several lines were from the book. How do you guys like it so far? Do you feel like the characters are done right by? I've been looking for a proper picture to portrait Jorge, but I cannot seem to find one that matches my image of him in my head. I'm particularly curious of your opinions: how do you think he looks like? Or should I maybe just get used to the person they have cast for the movie?_


	11. Chapter 11: A desperate diversion

_**Author's note: **Faithful readers, sorry for the delay. I've been away for a week and couldn't write during that time, because I was busy admiring the beautiful landscapes in Ireland. A real recommendation for anyone. But you're not waiting for holiday suggestions, so I won't get into that any further. Here is the next chapter. I hope you like it! As always, reviews are more than welcome. Also, I wanted to thank everyone, including a guest to whom I couldn't personally say my thanks, that has reviewed in the past – and hopefully in the future some more :)_

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**Chapter 11: A desperate diversion**

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Some of the not that far gone Cranks, hidden in the shadows but still keeping an eye out for possible dangers, first heard the screams. Soon after that, they would see a closely-packed group of boys, running hard between the gray, wrecked buildings. Most were looking longingly at the open desert in front of them, as if leaving this city would solve everything. As if that barren territory couldn't bring death too. A perceptive spectator might revise his or her initial observation: seeing that the group consisted not only of boys, but had one female in their midst as well. Also, one of the others was definitely too old to be called a boy. Together with the man, three other boys were carrying another. Not far behind them, a dozen or so Cranks were following them, shouting crazy and illogical things about wanting to eat their noses and what not. That would be around the same time that any bystander quickly returned to its hiding place, rushing to withdraw himself or herself from that disastrous equation.

Zooming in at the first group, the camera revolved around the girl named Brenda, who was panting but still increased her speed to move from the back to the front of the runners.

"They're catching up!" she shouted at Jorge, worry wrinkling her forehead.

Jorge tried to look back, but he couldn't do that whilst holding Thomas and retaining the same pace as Minho, Frypan and Dmitri. He just had to trust Brenda's eye sight for now.

"Can't we outrun them?" Minho yelled back.

He saw the worry change to doubt on Brenda's face. Just what he thought. Quickly, he assessed the situation and made a decision. "Not when Thomas is slowing us down," Jorge replied calmly. His voice was deep enough to cut through the heavy breathing and the loud pounding of footsteps around them, without having to raise it that much.

It nearly made Minho trip over his own feet. If the boy hadn't had his hands full, he most likely would have attacked Jorge for the implied suggestion. The Asian boy apparently choked with anger, since Newt was the first to formulate words.

"We're not leaving Thomas here," the blond boy with the limp said sharply. The tone is his voice was calm and resolute. A thought crossed Jorge's mind: Newt could have made a great leader as well, however, his role as the glue might be even more important.

"Not ever!" Minho added angry. "So, don't even think 'bout it!"

"Easy, boy. You'll take Thomas there, no problem." Jorge's eyes met with Brenda's, reading in hers that she already understood what he was trying to say. He pointed at a Glader close by. "Here, take over."

Minho shouted when he noticed that they were slowing down a bit. "Hey, what are you doing?! We got to keep moving!"

"Yeah, man," Frypan panted in agreement.

Only the look of the fourth carrier, Dmitri, puzzled him for a second. Jorge didn't give himself time to think about that and managed to switch positions with the Glader he had appointed while running. Although it had caused them to lose some of their speed, consequently leading to boys bumping into each other and the ones at the back passing their group members in fear of getting eaten by the Cranks. The group scattered slightly, but Jorge was sure that under Minho and Newt's management they would stay together. Freed from Thomas's weight, he could finally cast a glance behind him to see where the wild screams originated from. The Cranks were dangerously close – and gaining more and more distance on their prey.

Jorge had a grim look on his face. "Brenda and I will create a diversion. _Adiós, amigos_!" He didn't look back, but stood still and awaited their enemy, alongside Brenda. The sound of the Gladers's disappearing footsteps was soon overwhelmed by the clamor of the Cranks.

His eyes wandered to the tough girl with the long brown hair and looked at her with urgency. He wanted her to leave as well, but knew that she wouldn't, so the only thing he could try to convey was that she better be careful.

"Take this," he said to Brenda, extending his newly acquired sword (taken from Tall and Ugly), but she turned it down and showed her own weapons: the blade she always carried and Blondie's gun.

"I have this. They don't know what they're getting into," Brenda responded with a smile.

She must have grabbed it from the ground. Jorge felt a sense of pride that she, during all the commotion, had even thought of it. That was a smart move. However, he did not say this out loud and directed his attention at the horde. From here he could see the savage looks in their eyes. For every human it was true that earthly pain could dim the light in one's life, losing that sparkle of hope that caused one to hold on. It was not that look he saw in the bloodshot eyes of the nearing Cranks. The term 'far gone' applied to them only too well. They had embraced the barbaric instincts that rooted deeply in a person's darkest corners, but for them it was all that was left since the Flare had destroyed every ounce of their humanity. Their eyes were not dull, no, they shone of insanity and rage.

"Brenda, aim to kill," he gave her one last piece of advise before the collision, without looking away from the Cranks, whose tattered clothes were barely concealing the horrific wounds on their dirty bodies. Even though he had to shake off his disgust, Jorge still felt pity for them. It was not humane to let someone live like this, he told himself. Besides, they could not afford to spare their lives, for the Cranks wouldn't do the same to them. He hardened his grip on the hilt of his sword and readied himself for battle.

With a combative scream, he ran the last few meters towards the first Crank and immediately planted his blade into the man's chest. He blocked someone's attack with his arm and pulled his sword back, swinging it towards two others. Blood sprayed around him – he couldn't tell for sure whose it was, since he too felt a tingling of pain at his side. Soon, however, he was surrounded by six savages.

A shot cut through the chaos and found its way to a man close to Jorge. He saw a round bullet hole where his right eye used to be, before the Crank collapsed onto the ground. An eery silence fell. It had shocked the others and made them shrink back.

Good shot, Brenda. He had taught her well.

Jorge quickly regained his balance and held his weapon before him, both in a defensive and a threatening manner, while the blood was dripping from the blade. He felt the adrenaline surging through his body, blocking out any kind of pain. "If you want to eat lead as well," he said in a low voice, almost as if he was growling as an animal, "I dare you to take one more step."

At first, it seemed to work. But the silence following his words was soon cut off by the sound of a woman's hysterical laugh. Other joined in, feeling braver by the second. The first person who took one step towards Jorge, received the next bullet. Still, it didn't stop the woman who had started to laugh. He almost couldn't recognize her as someone of the female gender, since her face was so disfigured.

"You pretty. I take your nose," she grinned, which molded her face into an even more gruesome sight. She crossed the invisible boundary and started walking towards him.

A dry sound indicated that the gun was empty.

"Stay back," Jorge warned. He did not want to kill a woman, but he would if he had to. His warning was in vain, for not only the woman, but also the other Cranks started to move again. He swung with his sword and cut two of the closest ones. One succumbed to the wound almost immediately, the other cried out in pain but came back angrier than before.

Without counting the exact amount of nearing enemies, he knew the odds weren't looking great. He worried not for himself, but the only family he had left, or the girl who resembled these family bonds. "Brenda, go! I'll deal with them!"

"No way!" he heard in return.

A few Cranks managed to slip past him and went in Brenda's direction.

"No!" Jorge shouted. He took hold of his knife by its cutting surface and threw it at the back of one of the Cranks nearing Brenda. "_Mierda_, just go!"

Brenda's voice was laced with stubbornness. "I won't leave you."

Jorge kicked, elbowed, pushed and slashed every limb that wanted to grab him, but couldn't stop the Cranks closing in. Somehow, he lost the grip on his sword. He felt exhaustion slowing his movements. Upon hearing Brenda's cry of distress, which sent shivers down his spine, he couldn't see what was happening to her, nor could he help her...


	12. Chapter 12: Dead or alive?

_**Author's note: **Sorry about the cliffhanger, guys and girls, but I couldn't help it. Thanks for all your reviews, also from two guests (one of them is possibly the same as before?). To them and the rest of the readers: I plan to update every week, so then you would know when to expect it. Of course, it would be easier to just register to FanFiction and follow my story – then you'll get a notification when a new chapter is posted :) _

_Now, without further ado, let's find out how Jorge and Brenda will get themselves out of this perilous situation. They must survive this, right? P.S.: Don't read if you can't handle violence. (Maybe I should have added this warning at the beginning of the previous chapter as well, but if you could handle that one, then you're good.) _

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**Chapter 12: Dead or alive?  
**

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"Brenda!"

Jorge shouted at the top of his voice, repeating her name several times, until it started to sound hoarse. He was quite sure it wouldn't reach Brenda anymore, as his voice was carried away by the cheering howls of the Cranks, who seemed confident of their victory.

Surrounded by these Cranks with the realization that they had almost overpowered him, he still worried only for Brenda. He had heard her cry of distress, but nothing more. What was happening to her? Why didn't she respond to his calls? The not knowing and the desperate need for her to be alive and well gave him energy he didn't know he possessed; it evoked some kind of raw strength from somewhere deep inside him.

With his bare knuckles Jorge hit the Crank closest to him. He couldn't even see who he was punching, for his eye sight was blurred and the enemies around him were pushing to get to him first. The last thing, however, might work in his favor: since every Cranks wanted him for themselves, they were hindering their comrades as well. Another attacker received an elbow in the face. Jorge took hold of a nasty-looking Crank, grabbing him at the rags that once were clothes, and threw him at another. It somehow felt pleasing to hear their heads colliding with a crackling thud. He couldn't enjoy having ridden himself from two more opponents for long, though. Someone bit him in his calf, causing him to jump up and turn around with a startled yet annoyed expression on his face. What was up with Cranks and biting him? That really was disturbing.

"Stop that," he demanded, then lifted his foot to kick the man who, for some reason, lay on the ground and was crawling towards him again. The manic grin disappeared from the Crank's face when Jorge's foot grazed his temple, effectively knocking him out.

"Thank you," Jorge continued dryly, as if he was reacting to his own request.

His eyes caught sight of a glimmering between all the dead, wounded and unconscious bodies. The bright sun ricocheted off a blade not far from him. It was his sword! Before picking it up, he looked up at the direction where Brenda's shout had originated from. He saw a small group of Cranks huddling over something – or someone?

Oh no!

Jorge wanted to run towards them and help Brenda, hoping against all hope that she wasn't already dead, but a set of nails clutching his shoulder prevented him from going there. He tore himself loose without caring about the marks it would leave behind, but then he felt a knife pointed at his throat, dangerously close to his carotid artery.

The familiar sound of a woman's voice whispered in his ear. "Why leave so soon, pretty boy?"

Not her again. Not the Crank with the hysterical laugh. He thought he had already dealt with her, but apparently not well enough. This was expressed by a scoff coming from the back of his throat. Even the slightest movement of making that sound caused the tip of the knife to make a small cut, drawing a few drops of his blood, for the woman had pressed the weapon quite tightly against his skin.

"What's that? You wanna say something to me?" she daringly said, slowly moving the blade in such a manner that it scraped with its side against his windpipe. A grinding sound was audible when she ran it upwards over his facial hair, which entailed a stubble going wild since the days Jorge had been in this scorching place.

He understood it was some kind of game to her, but he was not interested to play along. While he tried to come up with a way to escape without having his head cut off, his eyes darted impatiently at the place where Brenda had to be. Or maybe she wasn't there anymore; maybe she had managed to escape. Yeah, sure, and he was the queen of England. _Be realistic and focus on this for now_, he thought harshly to himself. _You're no use to Brenda like this_.

"Well, that's a first. Nothing you wanna say? No last words?"

The appearance of a male Crank in front of him blocked the view he had.

"_Meirda_," escaped Jorge's lips.

Suddenly angry, the woman turned him around. Her breath was like a slap in his face, such a horrible smell it was. "I want your nose, now!" she yelled.

Jorge recognized the look in her eyes. It was the same one as he had so often seen in Joaquin's pair of brown eyes. The actions of a far gone Crank were as unpredictable as hell. One thing was certain: every resistance he was going to put up, would only be met with more anger, hatred and strength nourished by the Flare.

"Then take it," he calmly replied.

That was not what the Crank lady had expected, he could tell. Which was something Jorge took advantage of. He grabbed her hand and pushed the weapon out of his reach. Before he could completely reverse the roles, however, he felt how someone else seized his upper arm, pulling so hard that it almost dislocated his shoulder. Trying to find his balance again, he tripped over someone's body and fell painfully on his back, hitting his head as well.

Jorge clutched his jaw, urging himself to get up, but he felt dizzy and had a misty haze for an eye sight. Did he see Brenda over there? Was she coming towards him or was he imagining that? If that was the case, then why would he make out a shadowy silhouette nearing her?

"Brenda! Behind y- …. oomph!"

The female Crank had jumped on top of him, depriving him of any air left in his lungs. While he was gasping for breath, the woman clawed with her hands at Jorge's face.

"My nose! Mine! Mine!" she screamed uncontrollably.

Only perceiving the fast movements as a blur, he desperately tried to protect himself from her attacks. He felt her nails scratching his cheek, but continued to search for something that could serve as a weapon with his other hand. Come on now! Right when he thought it was hopeless, his hand made contact with some kind of metal pin, hidden in the sandy surface. With the last bit of his persistence, he groaned and stuck it forcefully into the woman's throat.

Bright red substance gushed out of the artery, some of it landing on his face and chest. Lady Crank touched the wound and looked at her bloodied hand with surprise. Her widened eyes met again with her opponent's.

The grim expression on Jorge's face softened for just a second. "Let it happen. Death will bring you relief," he said exhausted.

He watched from up close how her eyes went dim, then tried to push the dead weight off of his body, but was thwarted by the quivers of his tired arms. From the corner of his eye he saw the man who had blocked his view before, standing over him with an unpleasant grin, as if he was waiting for Jorge to stand up. Though, apparently this Crank did not have the patience to wait and yanked him from underneath the dead woman.

Argh. Would it never stop?

In a split second, however, the Crank's smile transformed into a look of shock. The man's grip on Jorge waned, so he could pull himself loose and moved away as quickly as his low energy level allowed him. He observed in confusion how the man started to fall, dropping flat on his face, only an inch away from Jorge's feet. He looked up at the spot where the Crank used to be.

"Dmitri?"

Taken aback, Jorge stared at the boy who he had last seen as one of the carriers who were taking Thomas out of the city. The sword he had lost before was in Dmitri's hands, fresh blood clung to the blade. Almost as if the Glader just realized what he had done, he dropped the weapon with a jolt and took a step back. It was only then that he saw the girl behind Dmitri.

"Jorge, are... are you okay?" She looked with a shocked expression at him, probably because he was covered in blood, but did not hesitate any longer and ran into his arms.

His breath faltered for Brenda's embrace brought new pain from the wounds all over his body, but he ignored it and buried his head in her brown locks of hair. "_Gracias a Dios_," was all Jorge could say. Thank God, she was still alive.


	13. Chapter 13: No Crank

_**Author's note: **Luckily, Jorge and Brenda are okay! Even though I myself was writing it, I wasn't really sure how it was going to end. Sometimes the characters seem to lead their own lives, although they aren't really alive... But I'm thinking that you understand what I mean. Anyway, what were your thoughts on the sudden rescue by Dmitri? Also, I was wondering if you wanted to see something in specific for the upcoming chapters. Maybe more interaction between Jorge and another character? Let me know if you have any suggestions. It is always great to hear from the readers of this fanfic!_

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**Chapter 13: No Crank**

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Eventually, Brenda tore herself loose from the embrace to examine him. "Seriously, are you okay? Are you wounded somewhere? This... this isn't your blood, right?" she asked with clear worry in her voice.

Jorge met her piercing eyes for a second and slightly shook his head. "N-not all of it."

He felt one of Brenda's hands touching the scratch on his cheek, then moving on to the cut and the other nail marks in his neck and shoulder. If he didn't stop her, he was pretty sure she would check every wound on his body. That would probably take a lot of time, because now that he wasn't fighting anymore he suddenly felt pain everywhere. Jorge took hold of her hand and looked into her eyes again.

"I'll be fine," he said, slurring his words for not having the energy to articulate correctly. He still rested on his knees, feeling too weak to stand. All he wanted to do was to go lie down and to fall in sleep, but that was neither the place, nor the time for it.

Brenda did not seem convinced.

His breath quavered as Jorge tried to come upright, which only succeeded when Brenda aided him. The look on the girl's face was now even more skeptical. Ignoring her, he instead turned his gaze to Dmitri.

"H-how? What...?" he started off wrong, but the visible confusion already managed to express the question before he could verbalize it.

Dmitri answered. "I saw several Cranks cornering Brenda, so I helped out. Then, she was very persisted that we had to help you as well," he added with a boyish smile.

A grin appeared on Jorge's face as well, partly because of the Glader's remark, partly because of the relief that everyone was okay. One thing he still didn't understand though.

"But why? Why help at all?"

"I just thought you needed the help, that's all." With that Dmitri shrugged it off.

"We did. Thanks, man," Brenda replied.

The boy averted his eyes a bit shyly and tried to draw attention to something else. "Besides, two against all those Cranks didn't seem as a fair fight."

"Against Cranks it never is a fair fight," Jorge commented. "Come on, let's meet up with the rest of the _muchachos_."

When he took a step, however, he almost collapsed for the second time.

"Jorge!" The emotion in Brenda's voice was bordering on anger with a hint of 'I told you so', even though she hadn't actually said anything about it. She quickly grabbed him and offered her shoulder for support. "Don't be so stubborn, you're definitely not okay. Now, lean on me."

"Fine," he replied, knowing it was her way to deal with her worry for him and cracking a smile despite the circumstances.

"What are you smiling about?" Brenda continued irritatedly.

With her help, Jorge took another step and held his breath when he felt a wave of pain rushing through his body. "Nothing. I'm just glad you're okay."

"Uh, should I help...?" Dmitri started to ask.

"Nah, no need. You just watch the surroundings," Jorge continued before Brenda could disagree. "And could you bring some of the weapons as well?"

It took quite some time to leave the city and reach the other Gladers. Apparently, they had run until they were absolutely certain no Crank would follow them. Due to Jorge's wounds, the three fighters couldn't really go any faster than a normal walking pace. Brenda – who had bruises and cuts as well, but luckily nothing serious – sent Dmitri ahead, so he could tell the others they were coming. The following silence that consisted of only their irregular breathing and their soft footsteps in the sand was broken by the girl's voice.

"Now, why the hell did you storm off towards the Cranks in your lonesome? We could've made a stand right where we stood."

Jorge turned his head in her direction. Wasn't it obvious that he wanted to protect her at all costs? He had wanted to deal with the Cranks all by himself, while leaving Brenda out of it. "You know why," he then said.

She apparently read the answer in his eyes, nodded and looked away again. "Next time, just trust I can hold my own and let me help you too," she softly added. Nothing in her voice indicated the angry tone she had used before.

"Okay, I will," he admitted the logic in that.

Time passed just as slowly as he managed to move his feet. One step in front of the other. Finally, they reached the spot where a lot of boys were busy setting up camp. Dmitri ran up to them, followed not far behind by Minho and Newt. The last two Gladers's eyes widened when they saw the bloody return of Brenda and Jorge.

Jorge, however, could nearly keep his eyes open and stumbled forward. Every drop of his reserves was used up, he concluded as he felt himself fall down. Only Brenda's voice managed to cut through to his cloudy senses, all other sounds and movements slipped his mind.

"Don't just stand there! Help me hold him."

Everything after that went black.

* * *

He woke up in the late afternoon and groaned when he felt the soreness of his limbs, even without having moved an inch. Ah man, that hurt. Turning his gaze to his chest, he saw that someone had removed his shirt in order to clean and bandage the wounds. Still, dried blood and sweat clung to his body, whereas fresher blood stains were visible through the bandage that was wrapped around his abdomen. His chest was decorated with cuts, scratch marks and bruises varying in size and color. The skin covering his ribs had already turned to a purplish blue shade from the kicks he had received two days before, due to the Cranks under Barkley's command. Jorge grimaced in pain when he pushed himself up to a sitting position. Having these newer wounds would certainly not speed up the recovery process of the older ones. He cracked his eyes at the golden gleam of the nearing twilight, felt hot wind coursing through the hot air and realized then that the Gladers had ignited a campfire somewhere behind him, which explained the sounds of crackling and sizzling he heard.

While he turned to face the fire, he saw a shadowy silhouette of someone laying on the other side of the flames. Thomas. The boy was surrounded by Minho, Newt and two other Gladers Jorge did not know by name. All of them had a worried look on their face. Worried with a tad of despair. He recognized that look from his younger self, when he had to watch how Joaquin's humanity deteriorated until there was almost no shred left. For a few seconds, raw pain was visible in Jorge's eyes. Pain that came not from his wounds, but a more intimate place. Kind of like it was a mental wound. It left an especially sour taste in his mouth when Jorge realized something else. Thomas was no crank. He would probably live – and more importantly, he would not go slowly insane. Because living with insanity could not be called a life. It was hell on earth.

"Hey, you okay?"

Jorge blinked, looked up and saw Dmitri's face appear. "Oh. Hey," he said hoarse, licking his lips and swallowing with difficulty. Man, he was thirsty. Unconsciously, his hand went to his dry throat.

"Here, take this," Dmitri continued attentive. The boy still had a slight frown for not being able to place Jorge's expression at first, but it waned as if he attributed it to the man's wounds.

After drinking some water, Jorge slowly tried to stand up. He felt a bit dizzy from the blood loss, physical pain and exhaustion, but he managed. It actually felt like a victory, were it not the case that he still had to grab Dmitri by the arm to stay upright.

"_Gracias, compadre_," Jorge said, while he took some time to fight the dizziness, but then let go of Dmitri's arm. His eyes met with the boy's, looking sincerely and forthcoming. "And seriously, thanks for saving Brenda's life. And mine. I hadn't said that yet."

Dmitri's look changed from surprise to a sense of appreciation and respect. "No problem," he nodded.

"Where is Brenda, actually?"

"She went to get some more wood."

"Okay, good." Jorge would rather not have Brenda around when he started operating. Then he nodded towards the whispering boys surrounding Thomas. "Shall we get that bullet out of him?"


	14. Chapter 14: Open wounds

_**Author's note: **First off, a special welcome to quite some new followers I gained after uploading the previous chapter. I hope you'll like this chapter as well. In chapter 14, there are two lines that come directly from the book (chapter 40), spoken respectively by Jorge and Minho. Also, on another note, one of the readers suggested more interaction between Jorge and Newt. Well, Embers to Ashes, you'll be pleased to know that I've incorporated that in this chapter. To another faithful reader, BookWorm237, Jorge might subtly hint about his connection to WICKED. Over time maybe even more than once..._

* * *

**Chapter 14: Open wounds**

* * *

"Is he unconscious?" Jorge asked after he had stumbled this way towards the other side of the campfire. He was followed by Dmitri, who probably thought that the Hispanic man had a high probability of falling flat on his face, considering the amount of his injuries.

Minho, Newt and two more Gladers looked up startled at the sound of his voice, as if they hadn't heard him coming over the spitting of the fire – and perhaps over the worried thoughts in their heads that kept nagging. The first two moved away from Thomas's body and stepped closer to Jorge, during which he could catch a glimpse of the wounded boy. Thomas was lying very silently on the ground, yet Jorge saw his chest rising and falling.

"Think so," Newt whispered.

"Eric and Brandon are the closest thing we've got to a Med-Jack, nowadays," Minho continued quietly and pointed at the other boys who had stayed with Thomas, "but they aren't sure about how to, you know, get that shuckin' bullet outta him."

Med-Jack. That term again. It was pretty obvious that Minho was referring to someone with medical knowledge. Jorge still found it astonishing that the Gladers had created their own slang. "Like I said before, I can get that sucker out of him."

"You know how to do that?" Minho asked as he raised his eyebrows.

"Yep," Jorge simply said, not particularly interested in explaining why he knew that. "Best not to wait until Thomas regains consciousness, then. I'm going to need a knife, some water, bandages and a needle and tread. Some of these things are in my pack, but I cannot seem to remember where I left it..."

"I think you dropped it when Brenda and you made it to the camp," Dmitri interfered, about to turn back and run in a certain direction. "I'll go get it."

Good. It took some effort, for Jorge still felt physically exhausted, but he managed to lift his feet, one after the other, and bridged the distance between Thomas and himself. The faces of the two other Gladers, Eric and Brandon, expressed initial shock upon seeing Jorge's battered chest.

"It's only blood, _muchachos_." Jorge rolled his eyes at this, but it did made him realize that the only reason they were staring at his bare chest was because he had forgotten to put on his shirt. Well, that was a bit awkward.

Newt tapped on his shoulder. "Are you sure you are up to it?" he whispered.

A bit surprised, Jorge looked at the boy with the ash-blond hair and nodded then. "I'll be fine. Let's get it over with."

"Good that. What can we do?"

As soon as Jorge had the stuff he requested, he washed his hands in water and held the knife into the flames. "You better hold him down. Legs and arms."

The cutting surface was glowing red, flickering even more in the fading sun's reflection, when Jorge knelt before Thomas.

"This is gonna hurt somethin' awful," Minho said, while he pressed Thomas's right shoulder down. His eyes darted from the knife to meet up with Jorge's pair of eyes. The Asian boy slightly nodded his head as if to give Jorge permission to do what needed to be done.

Jorge gave a short nod as well, then brought his knife to the meaty part above Thomas's armpit and made two small cuts that crossed the wound, which was called a X-incision, so he could reach the bullet more easily. As soon as the hot blade touched his skin, it made a hissing sound. Thomas's body started to twitch convulsively, while his mouth opened as if to let out a painful scream, but the boy lost consciousness before he could voice it.

With the point of the knife, Jorge entered the wound to search for the bullet. The constant gushing of blood, however, blocked his view. He mumbled something uncivil. "Newt, could you...?"

The boy next to him already got the hint and wiped the wound with a wet clot. For just a second, Jorge saw a shimmering of rusty lead in the wound, knowing now in which direction he had to carefully twist the knife. He heard one of the other Gladers suppress a gagging sound as he tried to whisk the bullet out. _Oh really_, he thought to himself. _Those guys were the closest thing they had to a doctor? _

Slowly, the slippery bullet went upwards and eventually left the opening. Jorge took the bloody thing and planted it in Minho's hand. "Here, take it. Newt, clean the wound. And, erhm, Eric? That flask from my pack?"

He wasn't really sure who Eric was, but hey, as long as he got the flask. What was the other guy's name again? Oh yeah. "Brandon, prepare the needle and tread."

Someone pressed the flask in his hand. Jorge opened it and took a big gulp from it, letting it burn his throat as it made its way to his stomach. Aah, that felt good.

Minho frowned. "What's in there?"

"Tequila," Jorge said with a grin. "I definitely needed some of that."

He was not the only one who needed it, though, for he had seen the rustiness on the bullet and worried that it might have done more damage to the Thomas's immune system than it had done to his bodily tissue. So, before closing the lid of the flask, Jorge poured some of the content in the boy's wound. After that, the stitches. And finally, a bandage.

"It's done."

After stating the obvious, he stood up and started to wobbly walk away. Woah, it felt as if he was drunk. He had only had one sip of the tequila! But, of course, he knew that it wasn't actually caused by the alcoholic beverage. The physical suffering had taken its toll, up to the point that he didn't think he could walk anymore. Jorge hated to feel dependent of others, so he just flopped down on the ground and waited for the dizziness to disappear.

Someone sat down next to him. "Hey. You okay?"

"Hm," Jorge produced an ambiguous sound as some kind of answer, while he kept staring at the same spot on the ground, willing the spinning images he saw to get back to the one that was real.

"You did great work there," the boy continued, pausing for just a second. "With fixing up Tommy. And with distracting the Cranks in the city. What I mean to say is... thanks, man."

Jorge blinked and slowly turned his head, not wanting the dizziness to return. He saw a very serious looking Newt. "You're welcome."

Somewhere deep inside him, he felt an emotion he recognized as guilt trying to come to the surface. Yeah sure, one of WICKED's main objectives was to keep Thomas alive, but that wasn't why he had done it. Or was it?

"Why did you help us?" Newt asked suddenly.

Quickly hiding that this alarmed him, he answered, "Thomas promised us the cure. We need you guys alive for that. Well, most of you, at least." The last thing he added with a wry smile. Something in Newt's bright eyes caught his attention, though.

"Were... were you always like this?" the blond boy hesitantly started, but then stopped as if he did not seem to know how to proceed.

Jorge focused his gaze a bit sharper on the limping Glader. "What do you mean, _hermano_?"

"Well, you seem nice, is all. I was just wondering if you were only bloody acting to get what you need," Newt continued, but his voice was in overdrive, while his eyes avoided contact.

"That might be so, but that's not what you want to ask me." He waited until Newt looked in his direction and nodded. "I won't bite, I promise."

"You have the Flare, right? H-how long do you have it? And do you already feel its effects? Do you act differently than, well, before?"

He thought he understood Newt's curiosity, remembering that the Gladers were told they all had the Flare and should travel through this scorched land to get the cure. "I'm still in a pretty early phase," Jorge lied convincingly. Although he himself was immune, he did have firsthand experiences watching people suffering from it. "So far, I've been in control, well, for the most time, although I do feel something changing in me. Just like you, I think?"

Newt was silent for a while. "Yeah... Just like me."


	15. Chapter 15: Bad feeling

**Chapter 15: Bad feeling**

* * *

They sat there in wordless silence. Silence that was filled only by the conversations of other Gladers who were finishing up their tasks and the sounds of Frypan's cooking. Jorge knew Newt wanted to know more about this illness called the Flare, which they shared – or so the boy thought. Still, Newt seemed to be doubting if he should expose himself like that. Trusting an unknown Hispanic man was probably also an issue. Even though it was only normal to want to know how long you could expect to live as, well, yourself. To live without being affected by the horrific consequences of the Flare. As Alby fittingly would have said: '_if you ain't scared, you ain't human_'. Unfortunately, Jorge never had the chance to meet the former leader of the Gladers.

He carefully checked to see if the bandage around his abdomen was still secure and brushed some sand off his chest, again wondering where his shirt had gone. "Anyway," Jorge started to say, deciding in that split second that he would let Newt come to him if the boy had something he wanted to ask. "It's getting colder now, so I better go look for the rest of my clothes."

Newt quietly watched how Jorge struggled to get up.

While suppressing a pained expression, he planted his feet firmly on the ground to fight off any of the remaining dizziness. "You don't happen to know where my shirt is? When I woke up, I suddenly wasn't wearing it anymore," Jorge continued with a grin, concealing the fact that he felt like he was run over by a truck.

The remark made Newt smile, even if it was ever so slightly and did not resolve in the least the worry in his bright eyes. "It was bloody bloodied, mate. I think Brenda took it to wash it or something. Or maybe she burned it," the boy with the limp added teasingly.

"I hope not. I'll see if I can save it from her hands."

With that, he left Newt pondering and went to look for Brenda. Jorge found her with a big pile of wood in her arms. She walked straight towards him, but did not seem to see him. As if she was deep in thought. "Eh, Bren!" he attracted her attention.

Startled, the girl almost dropped the wood and looked up. "Hey, you're up. How are you feeling?"

Jorge frowned slightly, wondering why Brenda was so absentmindedly, but he let it slide. "Yeah, I'm fine. How are you doing?"

"Some cuts and bruises, but other than that, I'm okay." At her gesture, he started to walk with her, towards the camp fire. "Erhm, are you trying to impress any guys here or something?"

"What, why?!" Jorge reacted baffled. He realized too late that there was an amused glimpse in her eyes.

Brenda choked back a laugh and sent a look at his bare chest. "Well, there aren't a lot of girls to impress here, you know. Unless you were aiming for me," she teasingly continued.

"Ugh, hell no," he said, getting now why she was insinuating all this stuff. "You're like family to me, that would be way too weird. But, _oye_, can I have my shirt back now, please?"

"What, I'm not good enough for you, mister?" Brenda asked dramatically, pretending to look hurt by his words.

"Pssh," Jorge made an unimpressed sound, yet did not have a comeback answer at the ready. He blamed it on the exhaustion which made him not think clear enough to come up with a witty response.

Brenda grinned and dropped the fire wood on the ground. Beneath the chunks and sticks was his shirt, draped over her arm. "Here you go_,_" she said when handing over his blood smeared, once white, piece of clothing. "I tried to clean it, but we cannot waste a lot of water."

Jorge nodded, took the shirt and buttoned it up – well, the few buttons that were still attached to the fabric. Although the heat still lingered in the air, as the night fell it would get colder soon.

"Is this for the fire?" some scrawny boy with brown hair asked, already bending to pick the wood up and looking up to Brenda.

The girl met his gaze. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

"Good that."

Jorge watched while the boy, who must be the youngest of the Gladers alive yet, took the wood and turned his back towards them. "Do you know who that is?"

"His name is Peter, I think. He's helping the cook."

"Frypan?" Jorge showed a partial smile by only tilting the upper left corner of his mouth. "Ha, that's funny. Frypan and Peter Pan are making us dinner. Get it? Pan?"

Despite his lame attempt at a joke, they both laughed. A comfortable silence fell, during which he followed Brenda's gaze towards Thomas's unconscious body.

"How's he doing?" she asked casually, well, trying to sound casually, that is.

"Ahh, he's... well, the bullet is out and he's all stitched up," Jorge answered a bit hesitantly.

Brenda apparently sensed that there was something he wasn't telling. "But?"

"I don't know, _muchacha_. Got a bad feeling 'bout it. Let's just see how it develops." He tried to shrug it off with that, but he saw that she worried nonetheless. "So, what's up with you and Tommy boy over there?"

An almost unrecognizable blush started its way up on Brenda's cheeks, if he hadn't known her that well he might have missed it. "What do you mean?" she asked, looking as innocently as possible.

Jorge smirked. "Oh, girl, you know what I mean."

The look on her face turned defiantly. "Nothing is going on."

"Mmm-hmm," Jorge voiced his incredulity by making one of those noises that sounded like a yes but meant exactly the opposite. The laugh in his voice was clear when he continued. "You know, Thomas wasn't wearing a shirt as well. Maybe he wanted to impress some girls here?"

"Wha-?" Brenda's jaw dropped, but soon she stared at him angrily.

Before he knew it, he felt her first hitting his shoulder. Instead of brushing the sore spot, Jorge just grinned broadly. "You're right, what was I thinking? He was probably trying to impress Minho or Newt, or one of the other guys."

Her face showed a mix of anger, disbelief and humor by now. "Seriously? You really should try to keep that big mouth of you in check, or it's gonna bit–…," she started to reply, but was interrupted by someone else.

"Oy, you talkin' about me?"

Jorge turned to see Minho standing there. "Ahh, it's the _muchacho _of the lightning," he exclaimed way too cheery for a man who was beaten up. Upon seeing Brenda's confused look, he added, "Never mind. What's the plan for tonight?"

Minho frowned slightly, probably because the Hermanic man never answered his question, but responded nonetheless. "That's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about." His eyes darted at the Gladers and met with Newt's gaze, mentally waving him over. Then, with a gesture directed at Jorge, he walked a little further away from the fire, away from the prying eyes of the other boys.

Raising one of his eyebrows at Brenda, Jorge followed him as well. Brenda reciprocated his facial expression with one of her own, but then shrugged and left in Thomas's direction, right about the same time of Newt's arrival. With the second in command now present, Minho started to speak again.

"I don't know how long Thomas needs to shuckin' rest before he can walk again, but we cannot stay here in the open."

"Not during the day, we can't," Newt added. "The sun will turn us in parched buggers."

Jorge already knew what they wanted to ask. They wanted to know about the condition Thomas was in. "Very true, yeah. But I'm not sure Thomas is out of the woods yet, though." He was barely finished talking, when Brenda's urgent voice reached them.

"Jorge! Get over here! It's Thomas!"

He ran over there and saw the boy's body shaking like crazy. Immediately, his hands grabbed Thomas's shoulders, pinning him down.

"Hold him down!" he ordered Minho and Newt.

Was Thomas going into shock? Something was definitely wrong. It was as he had feared: the boy had probably caught an infection. He exchanged glances with Brenda, reading the worry in her eyes and the knowing look that they had to do something about it.

* * *

_**Author's note: **so, this chapter is kind of a filler to lead up to the event you'll all remember from the book, that is WICKED intervening to save Thomas. That also answers a question of one of the guest reviewers. Hope it wasn't too bad, even though my inspiration level hit a new low this week. I'm looking forward to hearing from my readers. It really helps me to write. _


	16. Chapter 16: WICKED's intervention

_**Author's note:** Here is an extra long chapter, longer than usual, because I'll be gone on holidays the next few weeks. Hope you guys enjoy reading it. As always, follows, favs and reviews are very much appreciated! :)_

* * *

**Chapter 16: WICKED's intervention**

* * *

From his place at the fire, Jorge watched how Brenda sat next to the still unconscious Thomas, holding his hand. They had managed to stop the violent tremors that shook the poor boy's body, yet couldn't prevent him from quivering feverishly in his sleep. Thomas's breathing was irregular and his forehead felt warm, while the shivering indicated that he was cold. Jorge had told it was best to keep Thomas apart and to build an extra fire for him, where one of them could keep an eye on him, taking turns. Still, it wasn't looking good. That much was obvious. He had done everything he could – he had taken every precaution during the operation, yet his medical knowledge did not extend to treating infections, nor had he the supplies for it.

Jorge sighed and turned his gaze again towards the Gladers who were sitting around the fire, the same fire he was receiving warmth from.

"Mhm, food tasted almost as good as in the Glade," a redhead whose name Jorge did not know said, handing over the can he had used as plate to Frypan.

"Yeah, well, I have to make do with these canned goods," the cook immediately retaliated. "No fresh meat or vegetables here."

The redhead raised his hands. "Hey man, I'm not saying it was bad. It was the best shucking dinner I had in days!"

Frypan grinned and exchanged glances with his personal cooking assistant Jorge had come to know as Peter – in his mind he added Pan to that name as well. "Good that, Wyck."

The rest of the conversation eluded him, not only because others started to join in but also because of the issue of Thomas that tormented his mind. Jorge did not know why that boy was so special, but of one thing he was sure: WICKED needed Thomas alive. Which lead him to another conclusion: if Jorge and Brenda failed to deliver him in one piece, then they would suffer greatly at the hands of their employers. However, if they disregarded the rules by making contact with WICKED and it turned out Thomas would have been fine without WICKED's help, that wasn't good either. You could say Jorge was torn, for both choices could lead to equally unpleasant consequences. Which one was the necessary evil?

He stood up and slowly made his way to Brenda. "How is he?"

She looked up, worried. "Not good. Feverish."

Though they had not vocalized their suspicion to each other, both knew it had to be an infection plaguing Thomas. They also knew what that could mean for them, without having to say it out loud.

"What do we do?" Brenda broke the silence again. "We cannot let him die."

Jorge agreed with her statement, although it might have been due to other reasons than his companion, who seemed to have grown very fond of the boy. It didn't really matter why, it only mattered that Thomas kept breathing. And so, he came to the following decision. "We won't. I'll let them know," he said softly. Then, he put a hand on Brenda's shoulder. "Take a break, eat, drink. Someone else can keep an eye on Thomas here."

"Yeah, I'll be right there," was Brenda's reaction, albeit not a very convincing one.

A sigh left Jorge's lips. Well, he tried. The Hispanic man pulled up the collar of his gray sweater against the coldness and absentmindedly plucked a small device out of his pants pocket. It was the size of an usb, or maybe –

"Hey!"

Jorge jumped up at the unexpected sound and turned quickly around, trying to not look as secretive as he felt. Was someone onto them? Looking straight into the bright flickering of the camp fire made it hard for him to distinguish who the speaker was. "Hey...?" he reciprocated questioningly, all the while frowning and forcing his eyes to adjust. "Oh, it's you. Eric, right?"

"Yep," was the simple answer of the boy that had helped during Thomas's operation. "Watcha got there?"

He followed Eric's glare towards his hand, in which he had stashed away the small device. "Oh this?" Jorge nonchalantly asked. He showed the thing in his hand shortly, hoping that his accelerated heart rate couldn't be heard by the boy in front of him, although it resounded so loudly in his eardrums that it felt almost impossible to go unnoticed. "It's my lighter from the time that I smoked. Hah, it doesn't even work. Bit foolish, but I kept it as some kind of token, you know?"

Eric nodded, apparently believing the lie. His following words were accommodated with a feeling of melancholy. "Well, at least you got something from your home."

"True, _hermano_, very true." Jorge quickly put the 'lighter' back in his pocket, then gestured to the darkness on his left. "Anyway, I need to piss, so... See you later!"

When Jorge was sure nobody was following or keeping an eye on him, he brought out the device again and pressed an almost invisible button on the top. A small flickering screen materialized in front of him, right there, just hovering above the item in the night air. Yeah, technology had come very far for the ones who had capital at their disposal, like the funds WICKED received from the governments all over the world. The bright glow made Jorge squeeze his eyes shut. He quickly typed in the code and send his employer a short message along with the exact coordinates: '_Infected gunshot wound. Thomas needs medical attention, otherwise he won't live. Orders?_'

* * *

A whirring sound in the distance invaded his sleep, which for once held no recurring dreams, well, more like nightmares, about Joaquin and Ana. The fact that he now had the best sleep in weeks made it even more wry that that same noise kept nagging at his subconsciousness, growing louder by the second. By now, it was full of heavy thumps. Jorge groaned when he noticed that the sound wasn't going away. If anything, it was coming closer and was soon followed by the confused questions of the Gladers.

"Okay, okay," he mumbled to himself. "I'm getting up already. _Meirda_."

Jorge suddenly realized that he knew those sounds. He knew them like the back of his hand, since he was trained to navigate such machines. A bit more exited, he pushed himself up, shielded his eyes against the sunlight from the morning sun and looked up at the sky. Soon he found the source of the rhythmic thrumming.

"What is that shuckin' thing?" Minho yelled, coming to stand next to him.

"It's called a Berg," Jorge explained. "But what the hell is it doing here?"

"Don't ask me. I definitely don't know."

"Guys, do you see that?" Newt joined them and pointed at the white letters on the side of the nearing aircraft. "It's WICKED. What do they want now?"

Minho turned towards the other Gladers. "Listen up, shanks! That thing is from WICKED. Grab your weapons, be prepared, but don't attack until I say so. Is that clear, slintheads?"

A few nods and yeahs were the answer to his question.

Jorge looked over at Brenda, exchanged a knowing look and watched then how she made her way towards Thomas. It was that moment that his gaze was caught by the piercing eyes of one of the Gladers. Aris. Once again, the very own black sheep of the group of boys had focused his attention specifically on Jorge. Why would he? Somewhat confused, Jorge averted his dark brown orbs and turned to grab his weapons, while making a mental note that he had to find out more about that boy called Aris.

In the meantime, the Berg had begun its landing, adding gusts of wind that pulled at their clothing to the turmoil. When the hatch opened, six men jumped out of the flying machine, wearing green overalls and gas masks over their faces. They pointed their machine guns at the Gladers, not saying a word.

A grim expression appeared on Jorge's face. Yeah, he had notified them, that didn't mean that he liked them or their methods. As he clutched the long knife in his right hand, he whispered to Minho: "We cannot take 'em on with those weapons. We'll be dead before we reach 'em."

Minho kept glaring at the members from WICKED and eyed their weapons carefully. "If they wanted to kill us, they'd have done it already," he finally replied. Apparently, though, he did see some of the logic in Jorge's reasoning, gestured the other Gladers to stand down and stepped forward with only a dagger loosely in his hand.

Four of the men discharged from the group, following the command of the one in the front. That must be the leader. It might be someone Jorge knew, but with those gas masks on he couldn't tell for sure.

"Don't come any closer!" Minho warned, raising his dagger.

No reply came from the nearing men, nothing but the cocking sounds of their machine guns as they were pointed directly at the Asian boy.

Of course, in Minho's case this pretty much elicited the opposite of the reaction that was intended. Instead of showing fear, the leader of the Gladers snorted dryly. "That supposed to scare me, you shuckin' slintheads? What do you want?!" he continued with clear anger in his voice.

The leading officer slowly pulled off his gas mask. It was a man with short red hair, who Jorge recognized as someone named David. "Thomas," the redhead answered Minho's question. "We're taking him with us for a while. And that's not a request, so stay back and let us do our job."

"What? Who the klunk do you think you are? Nobody touches Thomas!" Minho yelled furiously now, his face red in a straining effort to verbalize his anger.

Jorge frowned. The Asian boy seemed to be loosing his cool. Apparently, Newt was thinking the same, because he rushed to Minho and seized his arm, before their leader would do anything rash like attacking the men with machine guns, only holding a dagger himself.

"Shut up, you bloody shank," Jorge heard Newt whispering quite loudly to Minho. Then, the second in command addressed the men from WICKED, emphasizing every word to indicate the gravity of the situation. "Bring Tommy back to us, alive."

The officer slightly moved his head in a nod, then gestured two of his men to collect Thomas and placed the gas mask over his face again.

"You think they're gonna fix him up?" Minho asked Newt with surprise in his voice. "Why would they do that?"

Newt seemed calm while he, along with the rest of the Gladers, watched how two of the WICKED employees pushed Brenda out of the way and yanked Thomas's body up from the ground. It all happened quite harshly, causing Thomas to scream in pain.

Was that really necessary? Jorge thought grimly to himself.

Although Newt pushed his arm against Minho's chest to stop him and did manage to prevent more unpleasantries, Jorge saw the tension in Newt's jaw and the flinching of his eyes at Thomas's screams. They watched in silence how the men carried the now unconscious boy to the Berg. The hatch closed after David stepped aboard and then the Berg flew off with one of their friends inside – or so it must feel to the Gladers, Jorge thought.

He overheard Newt finally answering Minho's question. "They must need Tommy for whatever buggin' reason," the blond Glader said slowly. "That reason, however shitty for us, will keep him alive." One look at the boy's face confirmed Jorge's first impression: he sounded surer than he looked, but then again, he did not know how right he was.


	17. Chapter 17: Who is Aris?

**Chapter 17: Who is Aris?**

* * *

The light of the rising sun shone directly in his eyes as Jorge watched the aircraft making a turn and continuing on to the south. It reminded him of something else. The temperature had considerably risen due to the arrival of the sun. They had to find shelter soon, or else they would probably burn to death. Or desiccate. Both possibilities did not appeal to him.

Jorge walked over to Brenda, who was wiping the sand from her clothes. His eyes asked if she was okay. She simply nodded, yet showed the same dislike of WICKED as he did. Still, notifying them was a necessarily evil for otherwise Thomas probably would have died. Together they joined the Gladers, who had assembled around Minho and Newt.

"Why did you let them take Thomas?" one of the boys questioned Newt's decision.

"Yeah, we can't trust these shanks. Why would they save him – and not any of the others?" Dmitri added.

Good question. Some of the other Gladers agreed grimly with this issue and were on the verge of offering more protests when an unexpected voice tried to answer it.

"It might have something to do with those plaques we saw?"

All heads turned to the direction of the speaker, who in turn looked directly at Minho. The suggestion came from Aris, the boy Jorge had a hard time figuring out. What was his intention now? If he really was trying to be helpful, then why did it seem like he wanted to create more chaos within the group?

"What plaques?" a lanky kid asked. Jorge thought it was Brandon, who had helped with removing the bullet from Thomas's shoulder.

"Never mind that," Minho interrupted, sending an angry glare in Aris's direction, but he then focused on the other group members. "And to answer your question, Alec, we couldn't help Thomas anymore. Yeah, we operated on him, but he was getting worse, maybe the wound was infected or something. I don't know why they would help us, but without proper medical care, Thomas isn't going to make it. This is our only shot at keeping him alive."

Well said, Jorge thought to himself. He suddenly understood why Minho had become the leader of this group. The Asian kid wasn't going to let them get distracted by the 'what ifs' and 'what could have beens', instead, he concentrated on what had to happen. He was straightforward and businesslike. Even though he had resisted Thomas's hopefully temporary abduction at first, he seemed to have quite some confidence in Newt and just went with it.

Jorge cleared his throat. "In the meanwhile, we need to take care of ourselves. It won't be long before it'll be too hot to be here out in the open. We need to find shelter."

"No, but... what about when Thomas returns?" Minho countered. "We have to stay here."

"Cure or no cure, Brenda and I are definitely not staying here. If we stay here, we'll be dead within hours." Jorge raised his eyebrows, while his brown eyes locked with Minho's pair. "I don't know about you, but I think you are no use to him dead."

"He's right," Newt acknowledged, causing Minho to look even grumpier and more stubborn to accept it. "Hopefully we'll find shelter close by, then we can easily keep an eye out for that helicopter."

"A Berg," Brenda corrected. "And I think we'll hear that thing from miles away."

Dmitri agreed with her. "Yeah, probably. Also, we need to be careful with our water supply. Keeping in the shade during the day will help, I think."

"Fine," Minho conceded. "Pack your stuff, we're leaving in five."

* * *

They found shelter not far away. Apparently, this Alec guy had eyes like a hawk and remembered to have seen some kind of house further north when they had set up camp yesterday. Luckily for them, it was on the route towards the safe haven. During the trip to their shelter, Jorge took the time to study the Gladers's very own outsider. The black sheep of the group, if you will. The boy had taken his place somewhere in the back of the runners – and Jorge followed him there by reducing his speed. He saw that Brenda sent him a curious glance, but shook his head. He would explain later.

"So... Aris, right?" he started the conversation.

Aris looked up with a slight frown on his forehead. "I already told you that before."

Right. He was the one with the witty attitude.

"Well, excuse me if I can't remember all of your names," Jorge replied sarcastically.

A surprised expression appeared on Aris's face, following by an hesitant movement upwards of the corners of his mouth. "Fine, you're excused."

For a short while, the only sounds audible consisted of the thumping of their footsteps and the puffing of their breaths. Some of the Gladers were clearly not meant to be runners, Jorge noticed from the heaving of their chests. Others, however, seemed to run with ease. Not many of them were talking, though, knowing that they should save their strength. Minho, Newt and Alec had taken the front, whereas Brenda was somewhere in the middle of the group, next to Dmitri and Frypan. He focused his attention again on Aris.

"What is your problem?" Jorge suddenly asked.

As expected, Aris was startled by the question. The look of his widened eyes, however, was soon replaced by glares of mistrust. "What do you mean?"

Jorge hid the grin he felt emerging. Instead, he tried to look as unsuspecting as possible. "Oh, I'd noticed that you do not really fit in the group. I was just wondering why, _hermano_, that's all."

"I fit in just fine," was Aris's curt reply.

The raising of a single eyebrow showed the Glader that Jorge was not impressed by the boy's reaction. "No need to take it out on me, _muchacho_." He concentrated on running and wasn't sure if Aris would respond again, but then, the silence was interrupted.

"I only know them for about a week now. I was stuck in a maze, too, but not with these guys. With a whole bunch of girls. After we had escaped, I somehow ended up with them."

"Another maze? Man, those people from WICKED are really nuts," Jorge expressed his shock, which was very genuine, he might add, for he did not know about the second maze. What if there were more than two?

"Yeah... nuts."

Jorge frowned at this, at the slow agreement. Had Aris other thoughts about WICKED's involvement? Did the boy maybe think... that WICKED was good? Or was he reading too much into it – and did Aris actually consider WICKED to be way worse than nuts? Jorge, however, couldn't exclude the first option and became more vigilant. He pretended to not having noticed the delay in Aris's response, for he did not want to draw attention to his own curiosity. If the boy was such a supporter of WICKED's trials, then he might know or at least suspect Jorge to be a part of it. That was why he decided to change the topic a bit.

"It is weird, though, that the same guys are willing to help Thomas, _si_? I mean, from what I've heard a lot of people have died. Then why not let Thomas die?"

Aris scoffed. "You know why."

"Oh, you mean the plaques? I don't get it. Isn't Minho the leader?"

At that, Aris just glared in Jorge's direction.

"What?"

"Minho is not my leader," the boy finally said.

Jorge grinned. "That, I get. He isn't mine either."

"I noticed."

The Hispanic man saw an opportunity and went for it, his eyes searching for any giveaways on Aris's face. "Is that why you keep sneaking glances at me?"

Unfortunately for him, it was around the same time that they reached their shelter. The shelter appeared to be more like a wooden hut than a house. A very shabby hut, he concluded, that seemed to be on the verge of crumbling down any second now, but it was big enough for the Gladers and Brenda and him. Minho started to give orders, but Jorge's attention turned back to Aris, hoping the boy would still provide him with an answer.

"No," Aris said. "It's because I don't trust you." He then left Jorge standing there and blended in with the other Gladers.

* * *

_**Author's note: **Hey guys and girls, I'm so sorry for the long wait. The vacation has been busy – and not always relaxing, because there was still a lot of stuff that had to be done. Anyways, I hope you like this chapter and I would love to hear from you. It's been way too long! Oh, and did you notice that by now I've mentioned every Glader alive by name? Yes, I did. I have given every one of them a name and used them in the chapters I've written so far. Some more than others, for Dmitri is more familiar than Wyck, for instance. 'Alec' from this chapter was the last one, which is the same as a certain character from the Kill Order, as some of you may remember. The names are all taken from the wall as it was shown in The Maze Runner movie. _


	18. Chapter 18: Troubled sleep

**Chapter 18: Troubled sleep**

* * *

Thankful for the shade, Jorge followed the Gladers inside, whilst shaking his head for the confusing matter called Aris. He seriously did not know what to think of that boy anymore, but of one thing he was sure. His gut told him that there was something not right – and Jorge wouldn't be Jorge if he didn't trust that feeling. God knew that it had saved him on more than one occasion. Unfortunately, he couldn't seem to figure out what exactly was off about Aris. Although he definitely was going to keep an eye on the lonesome Glader, for now, he decided to let it go.

"Peter, Wyck and Aris," Minho's voice chimed in, abruptly gaining Jorge's attention when Aris's name was mentioned. "You're gonna stand guard. If you hear or see one of those shuck flying things, you come to me. If you're not sure, check with Hawkeye."

During the trip to their shelter, a wretched cottage that thus far sustained every element this world had thrown at it, Alec received the nickname 'Hawkeye' – for his remarkable eye sight spotted their only protection from the sun. Jorge thought it was fitting and grinned upon seeing Alec's slight bashfulness as some of the Gladers cheered at Minho's use of the name.

The rest of the Gladers flopped down in the middle of the cabin, which only held a few wooden pieces of furniture, yet was stripped of anything of value. It seemed like it was plundered by Cranks – or, so Jorge thought, was made to look like that. Their shelter was pretty far away from the city, so why would someone risk the barren territory? Especially considering that Alec was the only one who could see the hut from where they had set up camp yesterday. No, that did not make any sense. What did make sense, on the other hand, was if WICKED had already plans for it to serve as a shelter for the Gladers.

Jorge, however, did not mention any of this to his traveling companions. Instead, he followed their example and rested his back at the wall. His eyes wandered around the room. They found Brenda sitting next to Dmitri, while Frypan was talking to Alec. He thought he heard them whispering about the plaques from the city. Behind them were the two not-so-much-MedJacks Brandon and Eric, apparently listening in on that conversation. And finally, Minho and Newt, acting secretively in the corner of the room.

He raised his eyebrows. What was that about?

Even though Minho was speaking, unfortunately Jorge couldn't hear what he was saying, he did see Newt's head heavily shaking no. The blond boy with his typical accent gestured vigorously and involuntarily raised his voice a bit. Jorge did not mind that at all, for with some straining he could now make out the words.

"No, they'll bring Tommy back to us. I know it. If we have to, we'll wait through the night."

"Okay, okay," Minho hushed him with a somewhat annoyed expression on his face. "Of course we'll wait, but we cannot afford to stay here long."

Then Newt opened his mouth again to utter just a short sentence, yet it was so softly that Jorge even doubted Minho had heard it. Judging from Newt's facial expression, it had to be something like a sighing "I know".

Minho put his hand on Newt's shoulder and obviously meant to give him a supporting squeeze, but the latter boy flinched because it was close to the knife wound.

"Oh klunk, I'm sorry," Minho mumbled startled.

Newt brushed it off with a one-sided shrug. "It wasn't you who threw the bloody knife," he said dryly. His eyes shifted from Minho to the room, specifically to the part where Jorge was sitting. Upon seeing that Jorge was listening in on their talk, he nodded at him and continued, "I think I'll let the doctor check up on me."

Minho followed his glance and answered in his usual demeanor. "Good that. Hopefully that shuck-face is able to fix at least one of his patients."

Jorge smirked at that, not feeling offended at all, while Newt walked over and joined him on the floor.

The Glader tucked at his collar, showing him the wound. "Well, what do ya think of it?"

"Straight to business then," Jorge joked. He focused his attention at the stitched skin, which had kept the wound shut and did not show much redness around it. "It looks good, _hermano_. Does it still hurt as much as before?"

"No, it feels a lot better," Newt answered, letting go of the fabric of his shirt. "But I'm tired as shuck the whole time."

"_Si, comprensible_. It's healing. Takes a lot of energy." Jorge flashed him a look of consideration. "Why don't you go to sleep? We're probably waiting for some time."

"Have you checked your own wounds yet?" Newt suddenly asked. "And maybe you should take your own advice too." He then turned his back at Jorge and made himself as comfortable as possible on the floor.

A small smile crept up on Jorge's face. The boy was right. He needed the sleep just as much as Newt did. Slumping against the wall, he closed his eyes as well and focused on his breathing. Soon, it became slow and regular.

* * *

_He stared down at the lifeless form of Joaquin. His little brother. The grip on the pistol waned. It slipped from his fingers and felt hard on the floor. He followed swiftly, his knees hitting the wooden foundation with soft thumps, and buried his hands in his hair with a shakily movement. What has he done? _

_How was he going to tell this to Ana? _

_A high shriek interrupted his deep sorrow. It was a girlish scream, quite obviously, but the thing that made Jorge sick of worry was the fact that it belonged to Ana. Stumbling over his own feet, he got up and ran out the door. His face showed a shocked yet repulsed expression when he saw two very nasty looking Cranks huddling over his little sister. _

"_Hey!" Jorge screamed, feeling so angry that it might consume him. He reached for his gun, but then realized he had dropped it next to Joaquin's dead body. "Get away from her!"_

_Only one of the Cranks looked up. His facial expression showed a mix of indifference and slight annoyance, while the look in his eyes was wild. What shocked Jorge to his core, however, was the sight of blood on the Crank's face. On his lips. _

_Jorge's movements grew stiff. He couldn't move for a second, he forced himself to do something, but his legs wouldn't listen. It was only when he saw the Crank turning back to Ana, that he could snap himself out of it. Without thinking, he threw himself on the nasty looking man and punched, slapped and jabbed him wherever he could. _

"_Jorge?" a weak, yet pleading, voice broke through his frenzy. _

_With an almost savage look in his eyes, he looked up and suddenly realized that the other Crank was pulling Ana at her battered arm, dragging her bloodied body over the ground, as if he was planning to take his prey with him. Oh no, you don't! Jorge ran the second man over as well, but he turned out to have some more fight in him left. Soon they were both rolling over the sandy ground, fighting for their lives – and fighting over Ana's life, until Jorge's hand found and lifted a stone to end the Crank's miserable existence. _

_Jorge hurried to push himself up from the dead body and staggered over to his little sister. "Ana, Ana! Hold on, _cariño_, I'm here. I'm here now." He caressed her cheek with a bloodied finger, saw it mingling with the damp sweet on her face and stroked her hair. "Sssh, it's me, Jorge. I'm here. You're gonna be okay. I'll fix you up. You'll be okay in no time."_

_Without wanting to admit it, he knew that he was panicking. He was too panicked to be realistic. His mouth kept saying that Ana would be okay, simply because he wanted her to be okay. _

_He wanted that so badly. _

_Despite all that, his eyes saw the damage. The inhumanely damage that had been done to her. To HIS little sister. His anger quickly subsided, however, when he recognized the fear in Ana's dark orbs. _

"_Jo- Jorge...," she breathed with difficulty. _

_A lump was stuck in his throat. Of all the things he wanted to say, none of them came out. Words had left him upon seeing Ana like this. He could only nod to encourage her to speak more. _

_A very soft voice broke the silence again, interrupted by heaves of pain. "I... don't wanna... die."_

_It destroyed Jorge. He hadn't realized he started crying, until he felt the wetness on his cheeks. Sniffling slightly, he carefully lay Ana's head in his lap and took hold of her hand. _

"_I don't want you to die, either," he finally managed to say. "So if you can, fight. Stay with me, _cariño_. Please, stay with me." The pleading tone in his voice was unmistakable, yet Jorge felt no need to apologize for it. Why would he? He just wanted his little sister to be okay. To stay alive. _

* * *

_**Author's note: **I've gotten the idea for Alec's nickname by communicating with one of the reviewers (you know who you are!). And yeah, I know. The flashback is very sad. I also know that I'm leaving y'all hanging, sorry about that, but otherwise the chapter would be way too long. It already is longer than usual. The next chapter will explain – and, if you like, also contain – more of Jorge's past. I'm really curious what you think of it, though. I'd love to hear from you. It helps me to write :).  
_


	19. Chapter 19: Homecoming

_**Author's note: **I'm sorry for missing my weekly update, but it's been extremely busy, so I think it is better (and fairer to you) to say that I'll try to update once in two weeks' time. Also, although a bit late now, I still would like to give shout-out to the reviewers of my fanfic. You guys and girls always make my day with your reviews! :) I hope you like this chapter as well. _

* * *

**Chapter 19: Homecoming**

* * *

The image of a young Hispanic man, broken and alone, was seared into his mind, as if it was an outer body experience and he was watching himself in a dream-like state. A dream from which he would rather wake up, yet he couldn't. Restlessly, he turned in his sleep, after which the memory continued...

"_Just stay with me," his voice could barely be called a whisper. Still, it had the unmistakable traces of sounding urgent and choked up at the same time. "Please, Ana. Don't go." _

_His fingers caressed her cheek which was tainted by blood stains. The cheek of a twelve-year-old girl who didn't deserve to die. Who didn't deserve the pain of this life. Who deserved so much better, so much more. _

_Something was stuck in his throat as he realized that Ana's cheek felt cold. His heart raced as he checked – hoped – for signs of life. But no, the look in her eyes was void, depraved completely of any emotions. Her movements were stilled. No laborious intakes of breath. No more beats of her heart. Nothing. She was gone. _

"_Noooo," he uttered with a sob in his voice. Jorge buried his head in Ana's chest and cried. He cried for his little sister, but also for the younger brother he lost the same day. _

_Everyone he ever cared for was dead. _

_And now, he was all alone. _

* * *

Jorge awoke to an eery silence.

A feeling of loneliness overwhelmed him and took a strong hold of his entire being. His breathing was labored, while he felt his heart beating twice as fast as it normally did. Every night, he feared to relive the memories of the life he had led a few years ago. Afraid to feel the brokenness he felt at that moment, yet also fearing the numbness that followed it.

His gaze wildly searched the room and finally settled on Brenda. Only when he found her among the Gladers, he could feel his heartbeat slowing down and returning to a more normal pace. He couldn't bear to lose her too.

She calmed him, yet at the same time she scared him. Simply because he did not want to feel the same things he might lose all over again.

Especially at times like this, when his memories haunted him, he felt like those things were about to slip through his fingers again, leaving him with nothing but pain. As if there was a danger lurking around that he should have known about. A danger that would take away everything he cared for, just like it had done before.

It had taken only one day, one single day, to be left without a brother and sister. For months he had looked after them, but he lost both on the same day. That had kept him awake for more nights than he could count.

Knowing that, Jorge sighed and flexed his muscles. His hand rubbed over his face, wiping the salty sweat from forehead and pushing his slightly curled hair out of the eye sight. There was no way he was going to fall asleep again, especially not right now. Then he'd better go do something, otherwise his mind would make him go crazy, Crank or not.

Jorge stood upright and went to check on the guards. He saw Peter, then Wyck, but where the hell was that weird boy? Aris was nowhere to be found. Although his eyes registered this, he actually did not care at all. The memories his dreams had conjured up were still too fresh to care about trivial things like that.

"Hey, man," Wyck greeted him at the door.

He nodded at both Gladers and wanted to walk out the door.

"I wouldn't go out there if I were you," Peter warned him. "It's so hot that I could have easily made us omelets if I had eggs."

That was typically something only a cook, or the helper of one, would say, Jorge thought to himself. Despite of his mood, he almost felt the corners of his lips curl up in amusement. "Thanks for the warning, _hermano_, but I'll risk it."

Without further ado, he stepped out of the shade into the burning sunlight. Upon feeling the heat, Jorge realized that Peter wasn't wrong. You really could bake some eggs in this scorching weather. Maybe it would cook the haunting memories right out of his mind. Maybe he would loose his mind – and he would be okay with it...

Woah, stop it! He shouldn't be so gloomy about it. Yeah, sure, his past was not really something he wanted to think or talk about, but he did not want to loose everything that reminded him of Joaquin and Ana. If he wouldn't remember them, then who would?

He turned the corner, still lost in thought, but something made him pay attention. Or more accurately: someone. From where Jorge stood, he spotted a boy with short dark hair. He was about to sigh – of course he would run into Aris again – yet kept quiet when he noticed the secretive behavior of the kid.

The boy seemed to focus onto something. On his forehead appeared a slight frown, although he had kept his eyes squeezed shut.

Um, what the hell was Aris doing? Did he frown as if he heard something? If so, why were his eyes closed?

Jorge was quite certain he hadn't moved since he saw him. Straining to read Aris's expressions, he crept a little closer. The boy's face now suddenly expressed sheer confusion and he shook his head, as if he was disagreeing with someone.

Just to be sure, Jorge took a look around to check if there was another person present he might have missed the first time. No, there was nobody Aris could be communicating with. Well, communicating? Not with spoken words, he wasn't.

Either Aris was completely nuts, or he was somehow talking with someone. Or at least hearing something from someone. If only there was a way to know what they were 'saying'... A thought suddenly occurred to him. What if Aris worked for WICKED too? He had heard rumors of some kind of telepathic device that allowed communication from one mind to another – and he heard that WICKED's scientists were the closest to perfecting it.

Realizing that, Jorge was hesitant to question Aris about the meaning of this. He did not want WICKED to turn its back on Brenda and him. No matter how much he disliked that organization, it was their only way of getting back to a non-Crank world.

"Hey guys!" Wyck's voice broke through the silence. "I see a chopper!"

Jorge pulled himself back, deciding in a split second it was better to learn more about Aris without him knowing about it. Before Aris had opened his eyes, he was back at the corner and had turned his back towards the boy.

"That's not a chopper," he commented dryly. "That's a Berg."

Newt overheard him when he ran out the door and shielded his eyes against the sunlight while he looked at the nearing plane. "Whatever it is, I hope it brings Tommy back."

"Good that," Minho affirmed.

He flashed a grin at the two Gladers that kept everyone together. "Why else would it be here? Let's go find out!" When Aris appeared next to him, Jorge pretended to be surprised. "Woah, hey, where'd you come from?"

Before Aris could reply, he was interrupted by Minho. "Okay, shanks, listen up! It seems that Thomas finally decided to show up. Let's throw him a shucking homecoming party!"

After those inspirational words, the group of boys followed their leader enthusiastically into the desert. A homecoming party? Seriously? Jorge lifted an eyebrow and looked at Brenda, who simply shrugged, let out a laugh and then started running too. He smiled halfheartedly and picked up his pace to catch up.


	20. Chapter 20: Special

_**Author's note: **Thanks for the reviews, guys and girls, and a special welcome to the new readers of this fanfiction. I'd love to hear more from you! Do you have any suggestions or things you want to see more in the next chapter? Let me know. Also, I know that Jorge has a pretty sad past, but as a guest longed for, I definitely will try to help him to smile more. Well, not in this chapter really, but in the future, I hope. This chapter has a lot of overlap with the book: all the things said here were taken directly from chapter 42 and 43 of the Scorch Trials, so I won't take credit for that. The things Jorge does and thinks, is all mine. Anyway, hope you like it and stay tuned for the next chapter!_

* * *

**Chapter 20: Special**

* * *

"Well, that really cleared things up," Minho said sarcastically after Thomas's explanation on what had happened during his kidnapping. "Must have something to do with all those signs about you in the city."

Unlike before, Minho apparently had decided to be ahead of the rumors about the plaques that suggested that not he, but Thomas was supposed to be the real leader. Well, ahead of those rumors? Thanks to Aris's meddling, all the Gladers already knew what he was talking about.

Thomas slightly shifted in his spot on the ground of their shabby cabin. "Glad to know you're so happy to see me alive."

"Hey, if you wanna be the leader, no skin off my back. I am happy to see you alive."

Jorge was actually a bit surprised by Minho's words – and equally so by Thomas's next ones.

"No thanks. You keep it."

His frown deepened when he turned his gaze from Thomas towards Minho, while greeted by the silence following that statement. The absence of a reply from the Asian kid was an anomaly on its own. Of course, he knew him only for a few days, but Jorge had thought that Minho would have been more defensive about his leadership role, just as he had been with him. Unless... the Glader never saw Thomas as a rival.

Jorge's expectation of Thomas, however, consisted of the impression he had gotten during their first talk, during which he decided to let the Gladers live and even help them through the Crank city – which had been WICKED's plan all along, but they didn't know that. He had thought Thomas would have wanted to fight everything WICKED stood for, but apparently, though, he wasn't that eager to show WICKED that they wouldn't just roll over and die any time yet. Unless... he had more faith in Minho as a leader than in himself.

While mulling over his thoughts, Jorge saw that Newt took on a standing position and came up with some kind of summary of all the things Thomas had told them.

"So we're all potential candidates for something. And maybe the purpose of all the buggin' klunk we've been through is to weed out those who don't qualify. But for some reason the whole gun-and-rusty-bullet thing wasn't part of the... normal tests. Or Variables, whatever. If Thomas is gonna croak and die, it wasn't supposed to come from a bloody infection."

Minho spoke up again. "What this means is that they're watching us. Just like they did in the Maze. Has anyone seen a beetle blade running around anywhere?"

Several Gladers shook their heads, as if they actually understood whatever that was supposed to mean. Jorge frowned his eyebrows, exchanging a confused look with Brenda, before opening his mouth too. "What the hell's a beetle blade?"

"Little mechanical lizard things that spied on us with cameras in the Maze," Thomas answered.

Jorge rolled his eyes. "Of course. Sorry I asked."

"The Maze was definitely some kind of indoor facility," Aris entered the conversation. "But there's just no way we're inside something anymore. Though they could be using satellites or long-range cameras, I guess."

While listening to the Gladers's very own outsider, Jorge almost felt his jaw dropping. How the hell did Aris know all this? Weren't their memories supposed to be wiped clean? Was he a computer engineer in another life or something?

Instead of dwelling on this subject, Jorge decided to change it up a bit and he cleared his throat. "What is it about Thomas that makes him so special? Those signs in the city about him being the real leader, them swooping in here and saving his butt when he got all sicky-sicky." He looked at Thomas. "I'm not trying to be mean, _muchacho_ – I'm just curious. What makes you better than the rest of your buddies?"

"I'm not special," Thomas protested. "You heard what they said. We have lots of ways to die out here, but that gun shouldn't be one of them. I think they would've saved anybody who'd gotten shot. It wasn't about me – it was the bullet that messed things up."

Yeah, right. Jorge could hear in his voice that Thomas himself did not even believe what he said, but he wasn't going to draw more attention to it. "Still," he instead replied with a smirk. "I think I'll stay close to you from here on."

Discussions were breaking out between the Gladers, but Minho abruptly ended them by insisting they needed sleep if they were planning on marching through the night. Jorge, however, had rather listened in on the Gladers complaining, then to try and sleep again. With a sigh, he heaved himself towards a wall, where he found a somewhat comfortable position. He closed his eyes, immediately seeing flashes and glimpses of his memories of Joaquin and Ana, but still he forced himself to keep his eyelids sealed shut. He knew he needed to rest, even if sleep wouldn't come.

* * *

Hours later, sleep still hadn't overwhelmed him. Resting against the wall, eyes still closed, Jorge kept a low profile, even though some of the Gladers were already awake again. He heard how Newt woke up Thomas.

"Sleep well, Tommy? How's that shoulder?"

"Feels really good, actually – aches a little, but not much. Hard to believe I was hurtin' so bad before."

It made Jorge wonder if Thomas even knew about Newt's injury. He guessed not, for the question wasn't reciprocated.

"Feels like we haven't talked much since leaving the bloody dorm," Newt said in his typical accented voice. "Not much time to sit around and sip tea, I guess."

"Yeah..."

A part of the conversation eluded him, for the sounds of other Gladers waking, talking and packing drowned out their voices. Jorge's eyelids fluttered shortly, but he still pretended to be sleeping.

"Morning. Or evening. Whatever," he heard Brenda saying, after letting out a very big yawn.

"Another day alive," Thomas answered. Maybe he didn't realize it, but he sounded pretty gloomy about it. "I'm assuming you guys had time to get to know each other? If not, Brenda, this is Newt. Newt, Brenda."

Newt responded mockingly. "Yeah, we know already. But thanks again for making sure this bloody sissy didn't get his butt killed while you two were out partying."

The barest hint of a smile flashed across Jorge's face. He quickly had his facial expression in check again, not wanting to draw attention to his eavesdropping.

"Partying. Yeah," Brenda scoffed. "I especially loved the part where we had people trying to cut our noses off. Guess it won't be long before I'm one of those psychos."

Thomas tried to reassure her. "You're probably not that much farther along than us. Remember that..."

"Yeah, I know," she interrupted him. "You guys are gonna take me to a magical cure. I know."

After that, Jorge heard that she got up and walked away. He actually was impressed by her decisive acting, about how she did not want to become a psycho Crank and her skepticism about a cure. Well, that last thing was not very hard to do. His thoughts wandered again to reliving the loss of his younger brother and sister. Subsequently, he almost missed Newt's whispered wisecrack, directed at Thomas. Almost being the keyword.

"She your new girlfriend? I'm telling Teresa."

Jorge's eyes sprung open. Girlfriend?

And who the hell is Teresa?


	21. Chapter 21: Teresa

****Author's note: ****_This chapter is kind of based on a few lines from the book. It says the following in chapter 43, on page 254: "No one spoke much as they marched along. Brenda stayed close but quiet. She didn't even talk to Jorge. Thomas hated how it was now. How suddenly everything was awkward between him and Brenda." But what if that wasn't all there was to it?_

_Sorry about the wait, by the way. I've been really busy and also dealing with a writer's block. I hope this chapter compensates for all that._

_Also, on an other note, I'm entering the Fanfiction Novel Contest with this fanfiction on the second part of the Maze Runner Trilogy! I'm very excited about it – and if you've liked the story so far, it would be really, really great if you'd take the time to vote for my fanfic. You can find it on: inkitt :dot: com (slash) stories (slash) 45550. Thanks! :)_

* * *

**Chapter 21: Teresa  
**

They were running for hours now. Despite the lack of sleep and his still recovering injuries, Jorge felt like he could run for another few hours. The mindlessness of running towards the mountains was a welcome distraction from reliving the past, whereas his head had found new intriguing issues to continuously mull over. This thirst for answers kept his fatigue at bay.

Jorge was still trying to figure out how to deal with the two revelations from before. Yeah, of course, he had noticed the tension between Thomas and Brenda, but he hadn't realized that there was already something substantial going on between them. Although he had teased her about it only a day ago, he hadn't really expected it to go that fast. Jorge couldn't reconcile this with what he knew about Brenda. He had gotten to know her as the independent and stubborn girl she was and, he guessed, had always been. That Brenda wouldn't easily just give herself to someone. So, even though he knew Brenda cared for Thomas, he couldn't believe that they were already something more.

Besides, Brenda would have told him when he asked about it. Right?

* * *

_His hand grabbed hold of Brenda's arm, pulling her away from the Gladers who were getting ready to leave. Jorge heard Minho's voice, but he didn't pay attention to what he was saying. _

"_Whoah, hey, what ya doin'?" Brenda uttered surprised. Her eyes quickly narrowed, showing signs of concern and cautiousness. "What's going on?"_

_Jorge looked over her shoulder to make sure they were out of earshot. Then, his gaze focused on Brenda again. "You tell me."_

"_What are you talking about?" Brenda said confused. She impatiently gestured in the direction of the Gladers. The boys had started running already, the distance steadily growing between them and their traveling companions. "Come on, we've gotta go."_

"_No. Bren." Jorge's voice urged her to look at him. "I'm serious. What's going on between Thomas and you? You gotta stay away from him. You're getting way too involved."_

_The look on Brenda's face rapidly changed to an angry glare. "What the hell?! Who are you to say that to me? You're not my father, or my brother." She started to turn away, but looked back one more time. She was still furious, yet her tense jawbones told him she trying to control her emotions. "And for your information, no, I'm not getting too involved. I'm actually trying to get us to safety."_

_Her long hair swayed as she brusquely turned and got moving. For a second, Jorge watched as she ran after the group of Gladers, but then urged himself to catch up too. _

* * *

Well, on reflection, she might have been too angry to tell him. He probably should have asked it a little differently. He kind of asked it with an offensive implication, Jorge realized now. With a sigh, he watched Brenda's silhouette in the dark. She was running silently somewhere in the middle of the group, close to Thomas, but not too close. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was just her way of keeping an eye on Thomas, which was what he had told her in the beginning.

Despite his own fault at handling the conversation before, her harsh words still resounded in his head. _Who are you to say that to me? You're not my father, or my brother_. Although it was the truth, technically he wasn't related to her at all, it still kind of hurt. Jorge rolled his eyes. He was getting soft – and melodramatic.

His mind went to the second revelation of today. The matter called Teresa. He had never heard that name before, yet it was whispered between Newt and Thomas as if it belonged to one of their so-called Gladers. After all, how else would they know someone? They couldn't remember anyone from their pasts, for their memories were wiped clean before they were put in the Maze. Thomas, however, hadn't told him about anyone called Teresa, when he was asking for Jorge's help.

The first thing he couldn't solve right away, he should leave Brenda alone until she wasn't pissed anymore, but the second thing he could solve... maybe. Jorge's eyes searched for a willing victim who would answer his questions without getting suspicious. Who liked to talk a lot? No one jumped out at him. Who wasn't likely to tell the others about his questioning? The answer was simple: Aris. But Jorge did not trust that boy.

Now that he was thinking about trust, he got an idea. Maybe he should just try to subtly talk to one of the more inconspicuous Gladers. Someone who might have begun to trust him. Yeah, what about...? His gaze found and lingered on Dmitri.

A small smile appeared on Jorge's face, while he picked up his pace.

After some small talk, he finally got to twirl the subject towards their earlier trials in the Maze. "So," Jorge said, "that must have been hard in the Glade. All _muchachos_, all boys, right?"

Dmitri glanced sideways and frowned.

For a second, Jorge thought he was made, that his question was too direct and his intention too transparent. He hold his breath unconsciously, until he heard Dmitri's voice.

"No, Teresa was there too. Well, only for the last few days, so you're kind of right. And she isn't here anymore."

Thank you, Dmitri, for making it so easy for me, Jorge thought. His next question could discretely be hitched onto Dmitri's concluding words. He didn't even have to fake his confused look. "What do you mean? Why isn't she here anymore?"

"Didn't Thomas tell you...?"

Oh shit.

"Well, he did mention that a lot of Gladers didn't make it," Jorge tried to put the spotlight back on the Teresa issue, rather on him not being told about it. "Is that what happened to that girl?"

"No, she's... very much alive."

Jorge frowned at Dmitri's statement. It was as if he was remembering something from before, a probably not-so-good something. "Okaaaay," he vocalized his growing confusion. "So, then, why isn't she here with us?"

"Why Teresa isn't here? Yeah, good question," Dmitri answered absentmindedly.

Internally, Jorge was rolling his eyes at that. He already knew it was a good question, he'd rather just have the answer to it. Forcing himself to stay calm, whilst knowing he was so close to figuring it out, he tried again. "What does that mean?"

His continuous questioning might have attracted Dmitri's suspicion, yet it was Aris's intrusion that threw a spanner in the works.

"What are you guys talking about?" Aris asked innocently, but his not-so-innocent eyes were fixated on Jorge. They disclosed more than the boy would ever say. His pupils were slightly dilated in alarm, whereas his almost closed eyelids spoke of distrust.

"Nothing much," Jorge said as nonchalantly as he possibly could. In a split second however, he decided to put Aris to the test. "Well, actually, we were talking about Teresa. The only girl in their Maze. You know her?"

Again, he read the alarming reaction in Aris's eyes. That boy did know her! What else hadn't he been telling them? Almost as if the timing of the next event was just there to give Jorge an answer to his unspoken question, he looked up at Dmitri's shocked whisper.

"Shuck. Speak of the devil..."

Jorge followed his gaze. A lone girl came running towards them at a brisk pace, her dark hair swaying as she moved, a spear in her hands. Subconsciously, he knew it had to be her. It had to be Teresa.


	22. Chapter 22: Don't interfere

****Author's note: ****_First time posting a chapter in 2016. Thanks so much for your patience and support throughout this fanfiction, I really appreciate it! :) Hope you'll like this one. The previous chapter ended with the arrival of Teresa... How will that go? Read and find out._

* * *

**Chapter 22: Don't interfere  
**

* * *

Jorge's surprise almost kept him from noticing the slight vibration in his pants pocket. Almost. He quickly glanced at the, mostly dumbstruck, faces of the Gladers and saw that all of their attention was drawn towards Teresa and her band of merry women. Well, you should imagine the word 'merry' being pronounced sarcastically here, for none of them actually looked happy or cheerful. They seemed to be on some sort of serious business – and Jorge guessed it would not be pleasant for either the boys or possibly Brenda and himself. He also guessed it had something to do with the vibration of his gadget from WICKED.

As discretely as possible, he pulled out a gadget the size of a lighter and turned his back to Aris and Dmitri to scan it quickly. There were only two words in the message: _don't interfere_. Jorge frowned, but shoved the gadget back in his pants pocket. He turned his attention back to the nearing girls, every single one looking grim with their rusty blades. There were even some who had bows and arrows, their menacing tips already aimed at the Gladers. The group of at least twenty girls was almost close enough to form a complete circle around them.

Jorge realized he had to act quickly if he wanted to warn Brenda to do nothing. Or whatever _don't interfere_ was supposed to mean. He swiftly swung around to walk in Thomas's and Brenda's direction, but bumped into Aris instead. The strange boy relocated his gaze at Jorge and changed its shocked impression to a scowl. However, before it had returned to its usual demeanor towards him, it exposed something else...

"Sorry," Jorge mumbled his apology and hurriedly moved away. He looked over his shoulder once, wary suspicion written on his face. Why did he see the same glint of recognition in Aris's eyes as when he had mentioned Teresa's name? Did the boy also know these other girls?

He had no time to think about it now. He had to warn Brenda. His mouth opened to whisper a warning, but Minho's voice cut right through it.

"What's this crap about, Teresa? Nice way to greet your long-lost buddies."

At the mention of the girl's name, Jorge saw the shock it instilled in Brenda and the way she looked sharply at Thomas. He gave her a confirming nod, as if they had talked about Teresa before.

The eery silence that followed, gave him the creeps. Jorge wanted to warn Brenda for something that was about to happen, although he did not know what that would be, but the unexpected quiet stopped him. He was not sure if telling her while everyone could listen in was the smartest move. Instead, he watched how one of the hostile girls stepped closer.

"Teresa?" Newt asked. "What the bloody – "

"Shut up," Teresa said. She did not snap or yell the words. Her voice was calm yet commanding, which set off Jorge's alarm bells. "And any of you makes a move, the bows start shooting."

She moved through the group of boys, letting her icy stare especially linger at Brenda. Neither of the girls said a word, but the hatred between them was visible. Then she was in front of Thomas.

"Teresa," Thomas whispered. By the sound of it, Jorge guessed there had to be an emotional lump stuck in his throat. "Teresa, what's – "

"Shut up."

"But what – "

Without any indication that her patience had run out, she swung the butt of her spear around and hit him in the face. While Thomas cried out, crumpled to his knees and put a hand on his right cheek, Jorge saw that Brenda was about to respond to Teresa's violence – probably with more violence of her own.

"Brenda, no," he said softly, the sounds squeezed through his clenched teeth, yet managed to pass on the urgency of the situation.

Brenda turned to look at him, questioningly but also with misplaced anger that fueled the fire in her eyes. Jorge simply shook his head and tapped on his pants pocket. He saw Brenda's eyes widening, but not losing its exasperation. Her clenched fists spoke of the effort to restrain herself.

In the meanwhile, Teresa had jerked Thomas up until he stood once again and pointed the wooded shaft of the spear at him. "Is your name Thomas?"

The boy gaped at her. "You know who I – "

Another hit from the spear shut him up, temporarily. Thomas cried out again, but did not fall this time. It was almost admirable that he still insisted on finishing his sentence.

"You know who I am!" he screamed.

"I used to, anyway," Jorge heard Teresa say softly and... disgusted? Weird. "Now I'm going to ask you one more time. Is your name Thomas?"

"Yes! My name is Thomas!" the boy yelled at her.

Jorge and Brenda exchanged glances, both of them were frowning due to the bizarre dramatics. Whereas confusion was the strongest emotion in Jorge's case, for Brenda it was obviously anger and the desire to attack Teresa.

Teresa spoke up. "You're coming with us. Remember, anyone tries anything, the arrows fly."

"No way!" Minho's voice cut through the silence that followed. Although Jorge could not see the Asian's face from where he stood, he could imagine the redness from his enraged temper just the same. "You're not taking him anywhere."

Jorge rolled his eyes. It was clear that there was no other way around this. They were surrounded by more people who had quite obviously the upper hand. Teresa seemed to think so as well. She simply stated that if Thomas wouldn't come willingly within five seconds, they would kill one of the Gladers with an arrow. The five seconds after that, another Glader would fall. And so on, until Thomas would be the only one left standing. After explaining this calmly, she began the countdown.

"Fine. Take me," Thomas said.

"I only made it to one."

"Yeah. I'm really brave that way."

That earned him another blow to his head, which had begun bleeding from a wound hidden in his hair. Two other girls brought a large sack and slipped it over his head. Not soon after, they were dragging him away, towards the mountains.

What the hell was WICKED planning to do?


	23. Chapter 23: Opposite world

**Chapter 23: Opposite world**

* * *

"We'll find you! Thomas, hang in there! We'll find you!"

Minho's face was red from shouting and withholding anger, while his eyes still followed the tiny dots that were made up of Thomas, Teresa and her merry band of girly bandits. Newt had taken on a sitting position on the ground, not worrying about the sand that would creep into his clothing. To be honest, both of leading figures of group A seemed a bit worn out.

Jorge turned his gaze towards Brenda and met a pair of fiery eyes – with impassioned rage quite similar to Minho's. It did not scary him, for he was used to the way Brenda showed that she cared about someone. He remembered loads of times where she would be yelling at him for being reckless and stupid, like when he ran towards the far gone Cranks on his own. Despite that, he still knew he would always rather risk his life than hers in such situations.

He stepped closer to her and softly squeezed in her shoulder, a gesture that was meant to be comforting. Even though he wanted to say something, he could not find the words, for he did not want to make empty promises. Jorge was unaware of this part of WICKED's plan, if there even was a plan, and knew nothing about what was going to happen to Thomas, or whether they would see him again. So, he thought better of saying something like '_We'll get him back_' and simply stood there, right next to Brenda.

"Who the shuck were those girls?!"

Surprisingly enough, it was Dmitri who exploded and uttered these words in desperate manner, both furious and hopeless. Jorge thought he understood that emotion: they had done everything – they planned a rescue from the party Cranks, they had fought against the far gone Cranks, they had surrendered Thomas to WICKED's men – all to keep that boy safe. And yet... he was the one that was taken prisoner by Teresa's group.

Even Minho looked surprised at Dmitri's outburst, but then he frowned slightly. He let his eyes flicker back to the tiny dots in the distance, which were disappearing behind the rocks of the mountain ahead, and Aris. Newt seemed to realize it at the same time, because he suddenly stood up again and walked over to the lone wolf of the group.

"Do you know them?" he asked, while he looked Aris straight in the eye.

"Yes," the boy said softly, but without breaking eye contact. "They were in my group. Group B. All except that girl you guys kept calling Teresa."

This promptly lead to Newt and Minho exchanging glances. Jorge interpreted them as worried glances. "What?"

Newt seemed to hesitate for a second, but then shrugged as if he had discussed with himself and decided that telling Jorge would hurt. "Thomas has a tattoo as well," he began, his hand unintentionally tucking on the collar in his neck. "His one says that he is to be killed by group B."

Jorge heard Brenda holding her breath, saw a shocked look on her face. He hadn't expected this as well, but took it a lot better than his companion. A somber ambiance hung in between the Gladers and their added members.

"Aw, come on, guys. He isn't dead yet. We might be able to save him," Jorge tried to lift the mood somewhat.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right," Minho said.

He did not even have to fake his stunned expression when hearing Minho's agreement. Well, okay, he might have exaggerated a bit, laying the shock on it a bit thick, but it was definitely worth the look on the boy's face afterwards.

"Woah, you're actually... _agreeing_ with me? This has gotta be a hallucination. Am I dreaming? Or have you gone mad?"

Minho grouched. "Shut up, shuckface."

Not only Jorge was grinning, but he saw some of the other boys's faces lighting up as well. Even Newt showed a partial smile, albeit one he conveniently hid from Minho.

"Well? Let's go then, shall we?" Newt ended the conversation before it could get any messier.

"You heard him!" Minho barked in his usual I-am-the-leader voice. "Everyone, get moving. We've got to get Thomas out of trouble. Again."

"Yeah, that _muchacho_ really is a pain in the ass...," Jorge said softly to himself.

Brenda looked up, but only shook her head and sighed, before running alongside Minho to the mountains. Both of them seemed to be the most eager to retrieve Thomas. Newt dawdled just enough to oversee the Gladers leaving and then closed the line. Jorge did the same.

"Hey," he said.

Newt met with Jorge's eyes calmly for a second, but then focused on the sandy path in front of them again. "Hi."

Jorge kept silent for a while, thinking to himself and focusing on running as well. "What do you make of all this? Is this also part of WICKED's plan?"

Newt eyed the Hispanic man again, a strange expression on his face, but kept quiet.

"What? I was just thinking about what you said. About Thomas's tattoo. And wondering if there is any truth to these tattoos. I mean... it can also be the case that they are just influencing you to do things the way they want you to do, right? Or don't you think so?"

"I've thought about both possibilities," the blond boy finally muttered. Although Newt seemed to have made his peace with it, Jorge thought he saw that his emotions were just under the surface, trying to break through his calm composure. "It could go either way."

Jorge frowned and watched how Newt was running – well, limping, but still quite elegantly as far as limps could go – next to him. "Okay, so you're not worried?"

That definitely got a reaction. Newt quickly turned his head to Jorge and stared at him with eyes that said it all. "Of course I am! But there's bloody nothing I can do about it now, so stop with all the questions!"

He had never seen Newt this heated. Jorge couldn't help but wonder if that outburst was in the right proportions; something seemed off about it. But then again, being The Glue of the group might have caused that boy to store all of these emotions inside, hidden in his normally calm composure, until he couldn't keep it in anymore. What was this? An opposite world in which Minho and Newt had temporarily switched roles? - with Minho agreeing with him and Newt having a tantrum.

"You're not one of us, so you don't know what it is like with WICKED," Newt added in an accusative manner of speaking. He suddenly sounded very tired. "Just... just leave me alone."

"As you wish, _hermano_," Jorge said softly. "But you should know: I do know what it is like to feel the effects of the Flare..."

Aghastly, Newt looked at him with widened eyes.

"Don't tell me you hadn't noticed them yourself."

"I... No, that's not it...," the limping boy tried to explain himself.

Luckily for him, he was halted by Minho's commanding voice, which called out to inform them of having found shelter from the scorching heath. Newt quickly left Jorge's side and joined his friends that were discussing their best options. It was obvious that the Asian boy did not like to stop, instead of following Thomas's kidnappers, but it really was too hot for them to continue their pursuit, while climbing up the mountain and getting closer to the sun.

And so, they each found a spot in the shadows – resting up and waiting impatiently until the sun would go under. What would the mountains bring them? Would they ever see Thomas again?

* * *

****Author's note: ****_We will find that out in the following chapters! Stay tuned, guys and girls. It would mean a lot to get response from you: please follow, favorite and/or comment on my fanfic!_


	24. Chapter 24: Family

**Chapter 24: Family**

* * *

Jorge couldn't sleep. As soon as he closed his eyes, he saw the dying last moments of Joaquin and Ana. Therefore he tried to keep his eyes open and his mind occupied. He quietly walked over to where Brenda was sitting and sat down next to her.

"Can't sleep?" he asked.

Brenda shook her head.

"Me neither."

She sent him a questioning look, but did not ask why. So he returned the favor and made no inquires as to the reason why she was feeling restless. Besides, he could make a pretty solid guess that it had got to do with Thomas's kidnapping.

There they sat in silence, not looking at each other but rather into the distance that consisted of miles and miles of sand. The radiating strokes of sunlight reflected on the desolate ground, causing them to squint. Minutes passed by without feeling bothered by the lack of words they used.

Jorge then got to thinking about their recent fight and couldn't deny the urge to explain himself. He cleared his throat. "So hey, I think you need to know that I'm, well, sorry for the way I accused you before. You know, for telling you that you were getting way too involved," he finally said hesitantly. "I just felt like, I don't know, that I had to protect you or something."

Turning her head, Brenda looked him straight in the eye. The look on her face softened, while her eyes searched for more behind his statement. Despite having kept most of his past from her, especially the more gruesome details, it sometimes felt like she knew him only too well.

"You're like family to me... _hermana_," Jorge added softly, averting his gaze. Although he often used _hermano _or_ hermana_, Spanish for brother or sister, as a filler in sentences, this time he meant it wholeheartedly.

After a while, he felt Brenda's warm hand on his forearm. "I know," she said just as softly and brought her head closer as if to force him to look into her eyes. In those dark orbs that reminded him of his biological sister Ana. There Jorge read her unsaid apology for saying that he did not have the right to tell her what to do, for he wasn't her father or brother, in an heated moment during their fight. She blinked the apology away and held his gaze. "You're all I've got left too."

For some reason, that made him feel sad. Of course, he was glad that he had met Brenda and that they had bonded, but he felt as if she was talking about Thomas as well. As if she was telling him what she missed. Just like Joaquin and Ana, Brenda deserved more in this life. Although the first two were not alive anymore, he could still make that happen for Brenda. Jorge made a silent promise to himself: he would try to see that through. He would try to get Thomas back to her.

He rested his hand on hers and smiled comfortingly, before letting go. "You should try to get some rest. Save up some energy for getting back Thomas."

A surprised but hopeful glint appeared in Brenda's eyes. "But is that what WICKED wants then?"

"Don't know," Jorge shrugged nonchalantly. He let himself fall back on the sand behind him and dropped his arm over his eyes, settling himself in for another attempt at sleep. But not before he mumbled one last thing: "You want it, that's enough for me."

Although he did not see it, he could feel Brenda smiling.

* * *

Jorge slumbered for quite some time, although his sleep never reached the deeper state in which dreams would come, thankfully, and awoke with a weird sensation that he had to act on something. He slowly got up, while watching his surroundings observantly. Nothing jumped out at him, not yet anyway, so he walked to the edge of your camp. The edge of the camp was marked by the transition of shadow into sun. He held his hand above his eyes and glanced at the sky, trying to determine the time. The sun had begun its descent, although it was still very hot and light out there. If Jorge had to make a guess, he'd say it would be around five or six pm. Too early to try and climb the mountains.

Following that line of reasoning, his gaze automatically turned towards the mountains. And there it was. The reason why Jorge had this weird sensation. Someone's back was turned towards him, but there was clearly a person climbing the rocks. Whoever it was, he had wrapped every inch of his skin into pieces of fabric, in an effort to keep the sun from burning him.

"Hey!" Jorge's voice rumbled through the air. "Stop!"

The climber looked back startled. It was Aris.

"What the hell you doin'?" he screamed after the boy.

Instead of answering, Aris turned around and rushed to continue climbing. Jorge quickly glanced over his shoulder and saw that his shouting had awakened some of the Gladers in the camp. In a split second he decided he would try to catch up with Aris. He had a sneaking feeling that Aris's behavior had something to do with what WICKED had in store for Thomas.

Jorge ran into the sunlight and unto the first boulders of the mountain. Feeling how the heat suddenly robbed him of oxygen, he almost immediately regretted his decision to go after Aris. _Madre mía_, it was hot. Even though the sun wasn't at its highest point in the sky anymore, it still felt as if his skin might burst open when it came into contact with those fierce sun rays.

Shuck it, he thought and jumped onto the next boulder, urging himself to make haste.

'Come back, you slintheads!" he heard behind him.

It was only upon hearing Minho's voice that Jorge realized that he had taken up Glader vocabulary in his mind. Ugh, why? He rolled his eyes and focused on climbing. Soon he got closer to Aris, who sent alarmed looks over his shoulder and almost tripped over his own feet when trying to pick up the pace.

"Heh, gotcha," Jorge puffed in between breaths, as he wrapped his hand around Aris's ankle. This caused the boy to collapse on the rocks, hitting his head hard. Ouch. That gotta hurt.

Aris cried out in pain and grabbed hold of his jawbone. "Let go of me!" he growled in a low voice, sounding more dangerously than he had seemed before. The boy clenched his teeth and kicked with his free foot in Jorge's direction.

Ah, so this was the real Aris. Jorge knew there had been more to the appearance of this lone wolf in the group of Gladers. He quickly dodged the boy's kick, but lost his grip on Aris's other leg.

Scrambling on his feet, Aris tried to make a run for it, but was met with a difficult-to-climb mountain wall.

"Where do you think you're going, _muchacho_?" Jorge asked with a slick grin. "There's no way to run to."

The pupils in Aris's eyes scurried around looking for another way out, yet turned back to Jorge's pair when they seemingly found none. "I have to go," the boy stressed desperately. "I have to."

Jorge frowned. "Why?"

It was obvious that the boy did not want to reply.

"Listen," Jorge continued with a sigh. "If you tell me what's going on, I might let you go. I'm your only chance."

"I have to meet with Teresa," Aris blurted out. "WICKED wants us to betray Thomas into letting him think we would be willing to kill him. It's crucial to finalizing the cure. Please, let me go!"

He was practically begging Jorge now, which confused the Hispanic man. The boy really seemed to believe that WICKED's plans were the answer to a better world. Jorge had lost that belief years ago. And yet... Brenda and he had a somewhat difficult relationship with WICKED, a relationship that they had to maintain if they wanted to live.

"But you won't kill Thomas?" he asked, just to be sure.

"No," was Aris's hastily reply, glancing anxiously at the Gladers at the base of the mountain. "No, we won't kill him."

"Okay, off you go then."

Aris looked at him surprised, but he definitely wasn't about to argue. To Aris, Jorge's reasons for this decision could still go either way: either he was working for WICKED, or he really wanted that cure.

"But," Jorge added with a head movement towards their spectators, "we've got to make this look good to the others. Hit me and then push me hard, as hard as you can, off this cliff."

"Are you crazy? That could kill you."

Jorge lifted the left corner of his mouth. "Trust me, _muchacho_, you can't kill me." He came closer to Aris, pretending as if he wanted to grab the boy. "Just do it already."

A few moments later, he was flying through the air. He quickly adjusted his body, so that he would make a head roll upon the landing. All he hoped for was that Aris had pushed him hard enough to reach the sandy surface – and not the protruding rocks.

During his acrobatic roll, all Jorge felt was sand. Sand everywhere. Even in his mouth. He protested the musty intruder by coughing, but was relieved at the soft landing.

After all, it was a pretty big jump.

As he opened his eyes, he saw a lot of concerned people staring at him. He squinted at the light, but the shadowy profile of one girl's face made him grin sheepishly.

"You idiot! Are you okay?"

* * *

**_Author's note: _**_This chapter turned out to be a bit long, but hopefully you enjoyed it anyway. What did you guys think of the twist with Aris's departure? The books never mentioned this, because it was written from Thomas's point of view. I'd love to hear from my readers! Reviews, favs and follows make me happy :)._


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